Drown the Heart
by Naninator
Summary: "Moriarty slipped up. He made a mistake." But did he really? Sherlock Holmes may have thought so but Jim Moriarty has one last plan that will tear apart Sherlock's world, and his heart.
1. Chapter 1

_I've had this idea for a while ever since watching the third series and I know there are brilliant stories out there already that look into a possible take on the fourth series but I just couldn't help myself, I wanted to add my own little tale too! I've already written quite a lot of this story and I'm editing it as I go. I really hope you enjoy it and I'll post the next chapter very soon!_

 **Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.**

 **Chapter 1**

Darkness and a dull throb in her temple greeted Molly Hooper as she drifted back into consciousness. Disoriented and in pain she waited for her eyes to adjust to the surrounding blackness. After a few moments Molly squinted and made out the high cement walls that enclosed her. There was a metal door with a small slot at the bottom yet the door had no handle. The room she was in was small and Molly felt a little claustrophobic.

Something trickled down her cheek, causing her skin to itch and Molly went to bring a hand up to wipe whatever it was away, only to discover that she was strapped by her wrists and ankles to a metal chair. Her heart started to race as she tugged at her restraints, panic and confusion bubbling up inside her. She thought frantically over how she had come to be there but was coming up blank. Her wrists were starting to hurt with her pulling so she stopped. Breathing heavily Molly struggled to calm her racing heart but she could do nothing to stop the frightened tears that gathered in her eyes.

Heart pounding, Molly struggled not to lose the battle against an impending panic attack when the metal screech of a heavy door sounded. Yelping and swinging her head around to face the door she watched as a short, thin figure stood in the doorway. It was difficult to make out who it was as they were silhouetted by the bright light behind them but Molly felt the breath catch in her throat in sudden terror. Lights suddenly burst into life in Molly's cell and she flinched as the brightness seared her eyes. She closed them tightly for a moment, her eyelids fluttering as her eyes adjusted to light. As soon as she saw who it was, however, she wished she had never opened them.

"Did you miss me, love?"

Molly watched as Jim, her ex boyfriend, James Moriarty, Richard Brook, the supposed dead Consulting Criminal extraordinaire, stepped into her cell. Realisation struck Molly like a sledgehammer as the memory of being in her sitting room and seeing Jim's face on her television set flooded her mind. Her memory was still a little fuzzy on what happened after seeing the broadcast and she shook her head firmly to try and dispel the fog that surrounded the memory.

Her focus went back to the man before her. He wore a tailored, expensive suit, his dark hair slicked back, and a smirk playing about his thin lips as his dark, emotionless eyes gazed at her intently. Fear spread like wild fire through Molly's chest as Moriarty moved closer, his eyes sliding over her bound form and Molly shivered under his unpleasant stare. She bit her lip harshly to hold in a whimper as he stood before her, flinching when he trailed his cool fingertips against her cheek. His cold fingers suddenly gripped her chin tightly, tugging her head up to look at him.

"I said, _did you miss me_?" Moriarty repeated, his voice shrill and harsh and Molly couldn't hold in the cry that burst from her lips when his nails bit into the curve of her jaw. He leant in towards her, his hot breath washing over her face as he suddenly grinned.

"You didn't think I wouldn't find out that you helped him, did you, love?" Moriarty whispered, his face close to hers and Molly was unable to look away from his manic expression. "Sherly thought he was _so_ clever, didn't he? Well, we both know who's clever, don't we, Miss Molly?" Molly closed her eyes tightly when he leant forward and nipped at her cheek, a tear escaping her clenched eyes. Her breath hitched with a suppressed sob as Moriarty moved back, a low chuckle escaping him.

"We're going to be spending a lovely time together, Molls. Just like the old days, huh?" He said with a soft laugh, chucking her under the chin before he turned smartly on his heel and left the cell, the heavy metal door slamming shut with a loud _thunk_. Molly sat there for a long moment in shock, until the tears that had been pricking her eyes finally spilled over and she broke down, sobbing quietly in the cold, suppressing darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

_Here is the next installment! It deals mostly with Molly's imprisonment by Moriarty and there are only mentions of Sherlock. He's definitely in the next chapter though so hang tight! There are some elements of torture and I have to say I was greatly inspired by the film V for Vendetta, so please be aware of that. Also, I used some artistic license when it comes to how Molly was taken, she was at home instead of at Bart's when the broadcast happened. Hope that doesn't upset anyone but it goes in line with my story._

 _Thank you to those who have reviewed, your comments are much appreciated! Thank you to those are following my story as well. I really hope you continue enjoying it!_

 **Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.**

 **Chapter 2**

Days passed and Molly wasn't sure she should be relieved or terrified that Moriarty hadn't made another appearance. Her thoughts drifted back to when Moriarty had first come into her cell. When he had left Molly had been left alone for a good hour before the cell door opened again. This time another man had entered. He had been tall but compact, solid with muscle and close cropped blonde hair. His face had been harsh and emotionless, and for a brief terrifying moment Molly had thought he had come to kill her when she had seen the knife in his hand. But he had only used the knife to cut her bonds. The blonde man had never said a word as the ropes fell away and Molly had rubbed her raw wrists and ankles as he swiftly left the cell, the heavy metal door banging shut behind him and she heard the lock sliding into place.

For days the silence had only been broken by the slide of a metal plate on the cement floor, filled with pieces of bread. At first Molly had been wary but the hunger pains had been too great so she had carefully taken a few nibbles. When nothing had happened after a few hours she had eaten the rest of the bread, practically inhaling it after three days with no food and only a small cup of water each day that had almost spilled each time it made it under the slot in the door.

While left alone Molly had taken the time to explore her cell. There wasn't much to it other than what she had observed when she had first awakened. She wondered, too, why Moriarty had even bothered to take her. While she had helped Sherlock fake his death he had pretty much treated her much the same before he left to take down Moriarty's network. Though…there had been those cases he had asked her to accompany him on, how he had told her that he enjoyed working with her, that he wished her to be happy. And he truly seemed to treat her as an equal lately.

At that very moment Molly sat leaning against one of the walls, her thoughts drifting to Sherlock once more. He was never far from her thoughts. The last she had seen of him was not too long before she had been taken. There had been the drugs, that relationship with Mary's bridesmaid, Janine, Sherlock being shot and almost dying…Molly sucked in a shaky breath at the thought that Sherlock had almost died and she had slapped him. Three times! There were moments when she regretted lashing out at him but then she would remember his scathing remark about her missing engagement ring, and the fact that he had taken the drugs in the first place, and the anger would resurface. He always said such horrible things. Always.

But for all the horrible things he ever said or did, Molly still loved him. She didn't think she would ever stop loving him. That he would never love her back hurt her dearly but she had come to accept it. Having his friendship, being a part of the magical world of Sherlock Holmes was all that she hoped for.

Molly rubbed her still sore wrists lightly as she wondered where Sherlock was now. She wondered if he had even noticed that she was missing. It had taken some time but, slowly, the memories of the night she had been taken began to return to her piece by piece as she wandered the four walls of her cell. The last thing she remembered was seeing the footage of Moriarty repeating "Did you miss me?" over and over on her telly when she had arrived home from an overnight shift, her cat Toby winding his way around her legs. She had been shocked and terrified, staring at the telly in horror when she had been attacked. She couldn't remember her attacker but remembered hitting her head before darkness had rushed in, her awareness falling away into unconsciousness. And then she had awoken here, tied to a chair in a small, cement walled cell, Moriarty's mocking face before her.

A low growl sounded and Molly rubbed her stomach absently. The tiny roll of bread she received each day was doing little to stave off the hunger. Headaches had started to plague her and her skin was starting to become dry and flaky. With a rueful sigh Molly knew that dehydration was setting in firmly, making her weak and sluggish. If Moriarty ever deigned to make another visit she wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight.

Molly laughed bitterly as she drew her legs up to her chest, resting her head against her crossed arms, exhaustion causing her eyes to droop. She had started to doze when her cell door slammed open and Molly lifted her head quickly, startled. The blonde man stood in the doorway for a moment before stomping towards her, leaning down to grasp her forearm and hauling her to her feet. Molly struggled briefly, wincing when the man tightened his grip when she tried to pull free.

"W-where are you taking me?" Molly demanded or tried to. She hadn't talked to anyone in days and her throat was so parched her voice sounded small and raspy. The man ignored her but Molly was tired of not knowing what was going on. She hated not knowing, being kept in the dark. She got enough of that from Sherlock.

"Hey!" She started, a little more firmly. She yanked harder on her arm, dragging her feet to get his attention. The backbone that she had steadily grown over the years working with Sherlock surfaced. "I asked you a question-" A gasp escaped her when he suddenly turned and backhanded her across the face. Her head whipped to the side with the force, pain filled, mortified tears springing to her eyes as she lifted her free arm shakily to her abused cheek. The man turned to her slightly, his expression blank.

"Do not speak," he rumbled before dragging her out into the hallway. Molly remained mute as he pulled her along, silent tears streaking down her face as she rubbed her sore cheek. Her eyes were too blurred with tears to notice where they were going and it wasn't long before the blonde man pushed her into a room that was lined with white tile. Molly froze where she stood, taking in the high ceilings and the drains that lined the floor. Along one wall there was a row of what looked like fire hoses, which baffled her, and along the ceiling were a series of rails that crossed from wall to wall. She stood there silently, taking it all in, confusion written across her face.

"Strip."

The command had Molly whirling around to face the blonde man. Her brown eyes were wide, her normally soft brown hair a matted nest around her face.

"E-excuse me?" Molly squeaked, mortified. _Strip?_ What was he on about? The blonde man frowned and took a menacing step towards her.

"Remove your clothes." He told her and Molly retreated a step. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment and she shook her head quickly. He took another step towards her.

"You will remove your clothes or I will do it for you." Molly's wide eyes took in his harsh features and she trembled as he withdrew a knife from his belt, holding it casually by his side but Molly understood the threat: if she didn't strip he would cut her clothes from her body. With humiliated tears spilling down her cheeks Molly shakily began to remove her clothes. When she got down to her underwear she paused, not wanting to go any further, but her guard took another step closer, raising the knife in his clenched fist. With a choked sob Molly stripped the rest of her clothes away, wrapping her arms around herself to cover her nakedness. She cried out in fear and surprise when the blonde man was suddenly before her, grasping both her wrists tightly in one large meaty fist and dragged her to the center of the room where a rope dangled from one of the rails on the ceiling. With quick efficiency he jerked her arms above her head, coiling the rope tightly around her wrists and pulling them tight until she was standing on her toes.

"W-what are you doing?" Molly asked, her voice so shaky it was almost incomprehensible. The man ignored her and once she was secured he moved away. From her position Molly couldn't see where he went though she frantically tried to turn her head to follow his movements. The squeaking sound of metal being turned had Molly trying to swing around, her arms aching with the strain of twisting herself unnaturally. She heard the unmistakable sound of water rushing through pipes.

"What are you-" her question became a shocked cry as water suddenly blasted her, crashing firmly into her naked body. The water was icy cold, the pressure unbearable, and her body buckled under the onslaught. She screamed. The sound tore from her throat as her arms jerked against the rope, her body twisting with the force of the water, her bare feet scraping against the tile as she tried to find purchase. Her scream became wrenching sobs as another blast of icy water hit her from another angle, her skin stinging, her muscles straining, her lungs seizing in tortured agony. She had no idea how long she endured the pressure of water against her, only that it felt like an eternity. When the water was finally turned off Molly slumped in the ropes that bound her, her knees buckling, her arms straining to carry her weight.

Dazed, Molly didn't feel the rough hands that held her as the rope was cut away from her wrists. She didn't feel the thin cotton smock that was dragged over her head to cover her nakedness. All she could feel as she was dragged from the room was shock. What had just happened? The hands that held her suddenly let go and she fell in a heap on the hard cement floor. The heavy door slammed shut and the receding footsteps were a distant echo when Molly realized that she was back in her cell. The numbness that had filled her after what had just happened left her, pain and humiliation rushing through her in its wake. With a whimpered cry Molly curled into a ball on the floor, gasping sobs leaving her aching chest as she cried.

SHSHSHSHSHSH

After the 'shower' incident Molly had been left alone for three days. Or what she thought was three days. It was hard to tell in her cell with no windows and the only light source was the slot in the door. The smock that covered her barely passed mid thigh and she vainly tried to cover her modesty as best she could. Purple bruises had appeared on her torso after the 'shower' incident and she winced every time she moved. Despite the horrible treatment she endured she was grateful that there was a small toilet situated in one of the corners of her cell, one ply toilet paper the only comfort.

Molly spent most of her time huddled in a corner, her arms wrapped around her legs, staring into space. Her thoughts drifted to her purpose in being there. Moriarty had said that they would be spending a lot of time together but she had not seen him since she had arrived in this prison. Besides messing with Sherlock, though Molly didn't truly understand how her involvement could hurt Sherlock in anyway, she didn't see any real purpose in her presence. Not that she wanted to see Moriarty again. Molly shuddered in remembrance of his dark, empty eyes, his cruel smirk, and soft Irish lilt that promised pain and destruction with every word.

With thoughts of Moriarty came thoughts of Sherlock, and by extension, John and Mary Watson, Greg Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and Mike Stamford. Did they even know that she was missing? The last shift she'd had was to be followed by two days off, a rarity but well deserved, so Mike told her. She hadn't been scheduled to work in the lab either so she wouldn't have crossed paths with Sherlock, not that he had been at Bart's since he'd been caught up in the case with that newspaper man. Mike would be worried by now, perhaps frantic; she loved the man dearly, his kind nature reminding her of her late father.

Molly sighed. The hope that Sherlock would come to her rescue had burned brightly in her heart but with each passing day that hope dimmed. She shivered, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. Her stomach continually growled; the hollow ache was painful but she was beginning to ignore it. The silence was beginning to get to her too. She had never craved the sound of someone else's voice before, working in a morgue she was used to silence, but it was all she wanted at that moment. Someone to say her name, to whisper comforting words to her. Tears she thought she'd used up began to trail down her cheeks and Molly dropped her head against her arms, crying softly.

The sound of the lock sliding back on the door had Molly looking up and she watched warily as the blonde man stood in the doorway once more. He did not move into the cell and Molly found it difficult to make out his expression.

"Come," his deep voice was an echoing rumble and Molly shakily stood, tugging down the edges of her smock. After what happened the last time the blonde man had come for her Molly moved towards him with only the slightest hesitation. She flinched when he grabbed her upper arm tightly and tugged her down the corridor. Her feet felt numb, having hardly used them in the last few days, and she stumbled alongside her captor, whimpering when he did not help to right her but continued to drag her quickly to an unknown destination.

They stopped in front of a frosted glass door and the blonde man knocked once. A call of 'enter' sounded from within and the blonde man pushed the door open, dragging Molly behind him. At a metal table sat Moriarty, perched on a metal chair with his legs crossed, a smirk playing about his lips. The blonde man pushed Molly down into the chair across from Moriarty before stepping back. Moriarty gave the blonde man a nod.

"Thank you, Seb." The man, Seb, nodded in return and moved back to stand beside the door, his arms crossing over his chest. While this exchange happened Molly glanced around the room, taking in the high walls that were windowless and what seemed to be a trough of water against the back wall. When her eyes returned to Moriarty she found that he was watching her intently, his dark eyes fathomless and wide, almost manic. Molly shivered and shifted nervously in her seat.

"How are you, Molly dear?" Moriarty asked, his voice mockingly sweet and Molly looked away from him, her shoulders hunching to make herself smaller. She must have been silent too long because Moriarty suddenly lunged across the table and grabbed her chin, roughly yanking her head up to face him.

"I asked you a question!" He screamed at her, his voice high and his dark eyes blazing. Molly trembled, wincing when he tightened his grip on her chin. She had no idea what to say. She was afraid to tell the truth, even more afraid to lie because she knew that he would know. She also knew that if she didn't say anything he would hurt her worse than he had already.

"I-I…I'm…um…I'm OK," she whispered and after a moment sighed in relief when Moriarty released her and returned to his seat. He smiled at her.

"There now. That wasn't so hard, was it?" He rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers over his mouth. A pang lanced through Molly's chest at the pose, reminding her so much of Sherlock that her heart ached. She glanced away from him, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to ward off the ever present chill.

"Now that we have that out of the way what can you tell me about that little trick you pulled with Sherlock three years ago?" Moriarty's voice was cool and moderate, and Molly looked at him in surprise.

"W-what?" Moriarty sighed.

"Three years ago you helped the great _Consulting Detective_ ," he made air quotes as he said the last part. "What I would like to know, little Molly, is your part in it all. Now, do be quick about it, dear. I would hate to involve darling Seb in our civilized conversation. I'm sure you have had enough of his company for a while." Molly's eyes flitted to the tall man at the door and she tensed when he shifted his stance but didn't approach. Her gaze returned to the consulting criminal.

"I-I didn't do much," Molly began, knowing that if she didn't share some of what she had done that Moriarty would act on his threat. "Sherlock kept most of the p-plan to himself. I-I only had to make s-sure that I was the one that did the a-autopsy on his body." She hated that her stutter had returned. She had been doing so well the last three and a half years, had become more confident in herself and what she wanted. Being here though, trapped, held against her will, and treated little better than an animal in a cage had worn away her confidence.

"Is that all?" When Molly nodded shakily Moriarty tutted.

"I really did expect better from you, Molly love," he said quietly, his tone forlorn. "After all we have been through together, too." He nodded to Seb and Molly tensed. She quickly glanced over her shoulder to see Seb moving towards her, his expressionless face suddenly terrifying. Molly whipped her head back around.

"W-wait! What are you –" she bit back a cry when Seb hauled her up roughly from the chair and dragged her towards the trough that lined the edge of the room. Not knowing what was about to happen but terrified all the same Molly struggled in Seb's hold, trying to keep the consulting criminal in her sights.

"Jim, please! D-don't do this! I don't know a-anymore, p-please," Molly begged, past the point of caring how pathetic it made her. She was pathetic; for being such a push over her whole life, for allowing Sherlock to walk all over her, for falling stupidly in love with a man who would never feel one iota of the love she felt for him.

Moriarty just grinned manically at her as Seb bent her over the trough. She saw that it was filled with water and she barely had a moment to suck in a startled breath before Seb's large, rough hands shoved her head beneath the chill water and held it there.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hi again! Here is the new chapter and I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know if you do. It greatly encourages me to write more and faster if I know people like it!_

 _A few things to be aware of: I started writing this way before The Abominable Bride came out so Sherlock is very much NOT high after landing and I didn't want to change that otherwise it would ruin the flow of my story. This chapter is set the day of the Broadcast and follows Sherlock through his search for Molly. Molly has been with Jim for roughly two weeks and by the end of the chapter it will have been about a month that she has been imprisoned. I think that's everything. :P_

 _Thank you to those who have reviewed, favourited, and are following this story. Your interest is greatly appreciated!_

 _Please enjoy!_

 **Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or the show.**

 **Chapter 3**

 _2 weeks earlier_

Sherlock Holmes, the world's only Consulting Detective, paced the length of his brother's office, his Belstaff coat fluttering around his legs with each turn he made. John Watson, Sherlock's best friend and blogger, watched the detective pace, scrubbing a hand along his stubbled jaw. Mary, his wife, was currently in the bathroom; with the impending birth of their child only weeks away she struggled with the constant pressure on her bladder.

John's eyes flicked up when Sherlock started muttering under his breath and John sighed. This sudden return of Moriarty was weighing heavily on them all, Sherlock especially. When the detective had told John of the fall he had sworn that he had seen Moriarty kill himself. The fact that he was now on every television across Britain was shocking and disturbing. There was some good that had come of Moriarty's supposed return; Sherlock was no longer being sent on that six month suicide mission. He was now needed here to deal with the Moriarty threat. The footage had lasted two minutes at the most and when Sherlock's plane had landed on the tarmac Mycroft Holmes' car had then taken them to Mycroft's office. They had been there for the last three hours and John knew that Sherlock was on the verge of snapping.

The sound of the door opening had John turning to see Mary enter the office and he offered her a small smile which she returned, heading over to him and sitting beside him on the couch. He lifted an arm to wrap around her shoulders, turning his head to press a kiss to her forehead. They both turned to watch Sherlock's quick movements, the man's hands steepled beneath his chin. Sherlock's hands soon migrated towards his hair, tousling the curls in frustration, and John knew he had finally reached his breaking point.

"Sherlock-"

"Where the hell is Mycroft?" Sherlock demanded as he whirled to face them, his expression livid. John sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. Mary squeezed his other hand in silent support.

"A whole bloody hour he's kept me here-"

" _Us_ here," Mary interjected but Sherlock continued as if she hadn't said anything.

"-when I need to be out there hunting Moriarty down! But it couldn't be him. I saw him shoot himself, he was dead…" His rant trailed off into furious muttering and John and Mary shared a helpless look. The sound of the door opening and closing went unnoticed by the trio until Mycroft Holmes stood beside the door.

"You will have the opportunity soon enough to see the video footage once more, Sherlock," Mycroft drawled as he made his way to his desk, bending over it as he sifted through the files that rested there. Sherlock continued his pacing. Mycroft sighed as he sat behind his desk.

"We have been unable to trace the origin of the video so far. My people are looking into it. For now, Sherlock, you will be given all the files we currently have on Moriarty to use at your leisure." Mycroft lifted a sardonic brow at his younger sibling. "You do understand that your sentence for the murder of Charles Magnussen has been postponed indefinitely until the Moriarty case is solved." When he received no reply from the detective Mycroft sighed again and turned his attention on the Watsons.

"The security detail on you both will be upgraded effective immediately." When John looked about to protest Mycroft held up a hand. "This is non-negotiable. Dr. Watson, you have previously been targeted by Moriarty before and with the impending birth of your child it is critical to the health of yourself, your wife, your child, and my brother that you are kept safe." Mycroft's voice was firm and decisive, allowing no room for argument, not that John could raise any when the facts were placed before him. John's brow furrowed as a thought came to him.

"What about Molly? She was the one who helped Sherlock fake his death. It would stand to reason that she could be a possible target if this really is Moriarty." Both Mycroft and John's gazes flickered to Sherlock who had stilled in his pacing, his eyes closed and the tips of his pointer fingers pressed to the bottom of his chin. Mycroft's lips twitched.

"You are correct, Dr. Watson. As soon as we discovered the Moriarty video I dispatched a team to oversee Dr. Hooper's protection. My assistant, Anthea, is keeping tabs on the progress of-" He paused when his office door banged open, Anthea rushing into the room and John was surprised that her eyes weren't glued to the Blackberry in her hands. In fact, her expression appeared almost frightened. Mycroft frowned and stood.

"Anthea-"

"I'm sorry, Sir," Anthea rushed out, crossing the office quickly and coming to stand before his desk. "I have just been informed that Dr. Hooper has been forcefully taken from her flat." Sherlock's eyes snapped open and John and Mary rushed to their feet.

"What?" John asked, shocked. He gently rested a hand on the small of his wife's back as she straightened beside him, her own hand coming to settle on her protruding belly.

"What has happened?" Mycroft asked. Anthea began scrolling through her Blackberry, rattling off information as she went.

"The team you sent to guard Molly went dark approximately forty-five mintues ago. I sent another team in and they discovered the first team killed at their posts surrounding Molly's flat. Her flat was deserted though showed signs of a struggle-" she was cut off when Sherlock suddenly rushed forward, gazing hard at his older brother.

"You need to take me to Molly's flat now," he said, and John was surprised to hear the hard edge in his voice. The Holmes brothers were locked in a silent staring match for a few moments before Mycroft nodded.

"Of course," he said and strode around his desk, whipping out his mobile. "I'll have the car sent immediately." Sherlock didn't wait for more and strode quickly from the room, his Belstaff whipping about him. John turned to Mary.

"I think it would be best if you headed home," John said softly. "I need to make sure that Sherlock doesn't do anything stupid." Mary smiled and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

"Of course, darling. I would expect no less." John returned her kiss and smiled down at her for a moment before turning to Mycroft.

"You'll make sure she gets home safely?" Mycroft nodded gravely.

"You have my word." John stared hard at the older Holmes before nodding firmly. Pressing one last kiss to Mary's lips John followed his friend out of the room.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSH

The consulting detective crouched beside the blue velvet couch in Molly Hooper's sitting room. A small splatter of blood shimmered beneath his pocket magnifier and his chest tightened with an unnamed feeling as what happened to the pathologist flooded his brilliant mind…

 _Molly was placing her coat on the hook beside her front door, her keys jingling in her hand as she moved to the sitting room. A sigh left her as she dropped onto her couch and flicked on the television, her cat Toby leaping onto the couch beside her, rubbing his head against her thigh. Molly was staring into space, absently petting Toby's head when the evening news flickered, bringing Molly's attention back to the screen._

 _"Did you miss me?"_

 _A startled cry escaped her and she leapt to her feet, Toby hissing as he fell to the floor, his tail whipping behind him as he ran to her bedroom. Molly stared at the television in horror, her hand covering her mouth as James Moriarty's face filled the screen. His dark eyes were bright and manic, his mouth curling creepily as he repeated the sentence over and over. She didn't know how long she stood there, transfixed by the evil face of the consulting criminal when the television suddenly shut off._

 _Molly stared in shock at the blank screen then tensed when her reflection on the television screen was joined by another. Her scream was muffled by the large hand that suddenly clamped over her mouth and a thick arm banded tightly around her waist, hauling her against a solid body. Her eyes wide in panic Molly struggled violently in her captor's hold, kicking her heels into his shins and twisting in his grip. By some miracle her wayward kicks somehow managed to kick him solidly in the groin and her captor released her with a strangled howl. Molly took the opportunity to scrabble away from him but he lurched forward, grabbing her wrist in a meaty fist and delivered a powerful backhand across her face. With a sharp cry Molly fell to the ground, her head hitting the coffee table before meeting the floor, darkness rushing in as she fell unconscious…_

Sherlock stood slowly, tucking his pocket magnifier away as he cast a look around the room. His keen eyes caught the scratches on the edge of the couch, no doubt made by Molly's cat in his haste to hide in her bedroom. His eyes continued about the room, barely noticing John's presence in the doorway, until they caught once again on the small splatter of blood by the overturned carpet. His gloved hands curled into fists at his sides and Sherlock turned swiftly away, heading towards the entry way as Lestrade motioned the forensics team into Molly's living room. John waited patiently in the corridor for his best friend to begin his deductions only to frown when Sherlock was silent, his gaze far reaching as he seemed lost in thought.

"Sherlock?" John began tentatively and Sherlock shook his head slightly before meeting the doctor's gaze.

"Her attacker was male, approximately 6 feet in height judging by the slight scuff mark against the door frame. He approached her from behind, most likely intending to take her by surprise though I believe that back fired. She heard him, or perhaps saw his reflection in the television screen, and tried to defend herself. A blow to the head would have rendered her unconscious and unable to correct her fall, thus the blood on the coffee table and floor. Forensics will confirm the blood is hers." He fell silent and John noticed the way the detective's fists were clenching and unclenching at his side.

"Do you have any idea who could have done this?" Sherlock's gaze collided with John's dark blue.

"Molly was taken approximately around the time of the television broadcast. I hardly think it is a coincidence, John. The world isn't that lazy."

"You think Moriarty has her? Or whoever is pretending to be him?" John's voice held a hint of anger as the doctor tried to control his emotions. If it was truly James Moriarty back from the dead, though John couldn't possibly understand how this could be; the man had shot himself in the face for Pete's sake, the thought of Molly in his hands made John feel sick. He could only imagine how Sherlock was feeling; the consulting detective and the pathologist had grown much closer over the past year, Sherlock really trying much harder to take care in sparing her feelings. He had even refrained from deducing Molly's ex fiancé and to John that was quiet telling. Never once had Sherlock spared Molly's feelings when it came to her horrible taste in men, criticizing her and belittling her at every opportunity, deducing her boyfriends and ultimately breaking them up in the process. But with Tom, and Sherlock's two years away taking down Moriarty's network, Sherlock had changed. John sighed as Sherlock didn't answer. He asked another question.

"What are we going to do, Sherlock?" Ice blue eyes focused on his friend.

"If it is truly Moriarty, or perhaps one of his fanatics, we will take them down." The detective's voice was firm and unyielding and John followed Sherlock as he moved past him and down the corridor. As John watched, the detective's coat billowed about him as he strode away and hoped that wherever Molly was that she would be able to hold on long enough for them to find her.

SHSHSHSHSHSH

Almost a month had passed and there was no hint or sign of Molly Hooper. The blood that had been taken from Molly's flat had tested positive as hers in the labs but no other evidence had been found in her flat. The man that had attacked her had simply vanished with her.

John watched as Sherlock slowly grew quieter and quieter as days and weeks passed, no further clues turning up. Sherlock would spend hours at a time deep in his mind palace, his long frame curled tightly in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. John was beginning to think that perhaps it wasn't Moriarty after all, as the consulting criminal would have left a clue by now as to his motives.

Detective Inspector Lestrade had immediately put a word out to all the police stations in London for any sign of the pathologist after they had secured her flat. Just the other night John had seen a news report on the telly, Molly's smiling face filling the screen and John's heart had squeezed painfully in worry and fear. They could only hope that Moriarty, or whoever had taken her, would slip up. He didn't know how much more they could take.

The doctor sighed as he sank into his old chair and watched his friend. He really should return to his wife. Mary had been devastated by the news of Molly's kidnapping and encouraged John to help Sherlock any way he could in getting the pathologist back. Mary and Molly had grown close in the two years that Mary and John had been together, striking a close friendship and understanding. While Molly didn't know Mary's true history Mary had confided in him that she knew Molly suspected something but was too polite and kind to dig further.

John scrubbed a hand across his unshaven jaw, the worry for his wife, who was very close to popping with their first child, the worry for Molly, who was in the hands of an unknown, or possibly well known enemy, and the worry for his best friend, who seemed to be closing himself off from the outside world the longer Molly was missing, threatened to overwhelm him. He cast his gaze to the still detective before glancing at his watch.

With another sigh John stood and moved toward the coffee table, pulling the notepad resting there towards him and scribbling Sherlock a note before heading towards the door and pulling on his coat. He missed his wife something fierce, the strain of the last few weeks taking its toll and John just wanted to lie beside his wife, bury his face in her sweet smelling hair and rest his hand on her swollen belly to feel the life kicking inside.

John had just stepped through the door when he heard Sherlock's phone ringing. He turned his head slightly, seeing that the detective hadn't moved in the slightest and with a sigh John returned to the room and picked up Sherlock's phone from the side table, checking the ID before answering.

"Greg, it's John. Sherlock's a little indisposed right now –" John trailed off as Greg Lestrade spoke rapidly on the other end. John's eyes widened.

"What? Where?" As Lestrade continued to tell him the details he didn't notice Sherlock's eyes flutter open and his hands lower from his chin.

"Hell," John whispered. "Thanks, Greg. We'll be there as soon as we can." John hung up and turned to see Sherlock on his feet, waiting impatiently for John to speak.

"That was Greg. He said a woman has been spotted in Hyde Park matching Molly's description-" John barely had the words out before Sherlock was rushing towards the door, grabbing his coat and scarf as he dashed down the stairs. With a muttered curse John followed after him, hoping that this woman was the one they had been searching for.

 _There you have it! I hope you enjoyed it and please let me know what you think. Reviews, favourites and followers are very much welcome!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Hi everyone! Molly is finally found! I knew many of you were hoping this would happen soon. Sorry in advance for the short chapter but I felt it works._

 _I want to thank all those who have reviewed, favourited, and followed this story. Your continued support is always appreciated and motivates me to keep going! :D_

 _I hope you enjoy the chapter and let me know what you think!_

 **Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.**

 _ **Chapter 4**_

 _A few hours earlier..._

Dull brown eyes stared up at the ceiling, watching the slow rotation of the fan fixed to the roof. The woman tilted her head to the side and saw the blurry outline of Sebastian Moran leave the room, his deep voice echoing in the high-ceilinged corridor, a softer yet no less masculine voice answering him. Molly turned her head back to the ceiling, her eyes finding the fan again as she breathed softly, painfully. Her ribs ached after Moran had worked her over, the intelligent part of her brain informing her that at least one rib was cracked on the left side, the animal part of her brain whimpering with the lingering pain of her latest torture session.

Molly felt as if she had been trapped here for eternity. Her tears had dried up long ago and she was barely responsive anymore, which is why she thought that Moriarty had resorted to physical violence. After that first interrogation Molly had repeated the same story over and over, the session ending with her being half drowned in the water troughs that lined the wall. No matter what happened to her she would not reveal how Sherlock faked his death, it was not her story to tell.

Molly had laughed once, more in hysteria than anything else, when Moriarty had asked her once again how Sherlock had faked his death. She had seen the anger in his expression, the rage at being defied and denied for the umpteenth time. It was after that that Moriarty had issued the command for Moran to be rough with her. At first it had been a bit of slapping around, knocking her head about a bit to get her to comply but when she hardly uttered a sound Sebastian had started to beat her.

It was quiet in the room and with a groan Molly struggled to sit upright. She glanced around her before looking down at herself, sighing softly at how thin she had started to become. Her chest was almost skin and bones and a hoarse laugh, which soon merged into a choked sob, escaped her when she realized that Sherlock was right, her breasts really were small. She wasn't tied down so Molly shifted her thin legs to the edge of the table she rested on, carefully testing them against holding her weight. They shook slightly but held her upright and Molly took a step forward towards the door. She whimpered when she tripped and crashed into the door frame, her bruised and tired body screaming in exhaustion and pain. She peeked out into the corridor and, after finding it deserted, made her way out of the room and walked down the corridor.

Beside Moriarty and Moran, Molly had not seen anyone else while in captivity. She didn't know why her captors had left her alone and unbound, Moran usually dragged her to her cell after he had worked her over. She wasn't taking any chances, however. If this was her one chance to escape she was taking it. In the back of her mind she considered that this was a trap but she banished the thought. All she could focus on now was the hope that freedom was at her very fingertips.

As Molly reached the end of the corridor unimpeded she reached out for the push bar, pressing on it gently at first, suddenly afraid that she had made it all this way only to find the outside world barred to her. With a deep breath that caused her to wince Molly pushed hard against the door, stumbling as it gave way beneath her slight weight. She almost fell to the ground as she went through the door, blinking rapidly against the startling brightness of the rare sunshine. A cool breeze ruffled her dirty, tangled hair and Molly closed her eyes, breathing in the fresh air that she hadn't felt in what seemed like forever.

She must have been standing there for a little while because she was startled by the sound of a car backfiring and her eyes opened wide. Glancing around she saw that she was still alone but that could change at any moment. As quickly as her thin limbs could take her Molly hurried away from the building that had been her prison. The smock that covered her did little to protect her from the cool wind and she shivered when she found herself in the middle of a deserted street. Glancing around Molly noticed that she was surrounded by large warehouses, the one she had been imprisoned in blending in with all the others. With as much strength and determination as she could muster Molly headed away from the warehouses, hoping that she would be able to find a place she recognized and then find someone to take her home.

SHSHSHSHSHSH

After what felt like hours Molly found herself in a park. She tried to stick to the trees, not wanting to frighten anyone with her appearance, she knew she looked absolutely horrible, and she was completely exhausted, not to mention starving. Molly paused as she found herself in view of a playground, a group of young children laughing and chasing each other as they played, and Molly felt a smile come to her lips. With an exhausted sigh she sat down next to a tree, leaning against it so she had a view of the playground, and closed her eyes. A little rest for a moment and then she would find someone who could get her in contact with Greg or John or Mary or…Sherlock…

"-iss? Miss, can you hear me?" Molly slowly opened her eyes when she felt a hand shake her shoulder gently, a soft yet urgent voice talking to her. As she looked up she saw a young woman pulling out her phone, holding it to her ear as she looked down at Molly's slumped form.

"Yes, emergency? Hi, I've found a woman in Hyde Park, near the north side playground. Early thirties I think, brown hair and eyes. She looks really banged up and is only wearing some sort of nighty thing – oh! It looks like she's waking up. Yes, I'll stay with her, bye." The young woman hung up and turned to face Molly properly.

"Hi, are you alright? I saw you over here and thought you might need some help." The young woman tilted her head slightly as she squinted her eyes at Molly. "You know, you look an awful lot like that woman on the news that went missing about a month ago. Oh, right! You must be freezing! Here, you can have my jacket. I'm Tara by the way." As Tara wrapped her jacket around Molly's thin shoulders Molly offered the young woman a grateful smile.

"Thank you," Molly whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse and Tara smiled brightly at her.

"You're welcome! Oh I hope that ambulance gets here soon, you look like you're in a lot of pain." Molly didn't reply, just huddled into the jacket Tara had given her. Her body ached and the cold seemed to rush right through her. Every shiver caused her teeth to rattle and chest to twinge with pain. Tara continued to chatter nonsensically for what seemed a long time to Molly but she was grateful to the girl; after hearing only harsh, abusive, psychotic male voices for weeks Tara's soft, high voice was rather soothing. Time passed without notice until the sound of distant sirens could be heard and Tara's head whipped around.

"Oh, good! Here comes the ambulance. Oh, and there seems to be a police car and…is that a cab?" Tara's voice sounded bewildered and Molly looked up just as the ambulance can bumbling up the wide footpath, a police car and what was indeed a cab pulling up behind it. Tara went to greet the paramedics but Molly's eyes were drawn to the figures coming out of the police car and cab. Her eyes widened when Greg Lestrade stepped out of the police car, his eyes scanning the park before coming to rest on her. She tried to smile but then she caught sight of the tall figure in the beautiful coat that came to stand beside the detective inspector. His gaze, too, scanned the park before finally coming to rest on her. Molly's breath caught in her throat as his sea-blue eyes caught her brown ones and then suddenly he was running towards her, Greg, and now that she could see clearly, John, right on his heels. Sherlock Holmes came to a standstill before her, gazing down at her with an expression she couldn't begin to understand and Molly stared up at him, tears that she thought herself no longer capable of filling her eyes. She tried to give him a smile but it was shaky at best and the tears finally spilled over.

"Sherlock," she whispered and then suddenly Sherlock was kneeling before her and pulling her into his arms, wrapping them tightly around her as he buried his face in her shoulder. Molly sat there in shock for a moment, wincing slightly at the strength of his hold, before leaning into him, her eyes closing in relief because now she knew that she was safe, an overwhelming feeling of peace overcoming her. She felt sleep pull at her but knew that she had to warn Sherlock.

"Moriarty," she breathed, her head dropping heavily against his hard shoulder. "He's back." Molly felt his arms tighten further. With a soft sigh she leaned more of her weight onto him, drifting into sleep in Sherlock's arms, oblivious to the arrival of the paramedics.

 _Let me know what you think! :D_

 _Next chapter will be up very soon!_


	5. Chapter 5

_Another chapter! I felt a bit bad for leaving you like that in the last chapter so I thought I'd update a bit sooner. Also, I'm afraid I'll get things thrown at me as this chapter ends on a bit of a cliffhanger. It will be alright in the end, not to worry!_

 _Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favourited, and followed this story! It is greatly appreciated and keeps me motivated._

 _Be sure to leave a comment if you enjoy the chapter - I like to hear if people are enjoying it and what their thoughts are on where the story is going._

 _Enjoy!_

 **Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.**

 **Chapter 5**

The soft beeping of the heart monitor filled the private hospital room and quiet, even breathing sounded from the bed's lone occupant. John Watson was sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room, his dark blue gaze drifting from the sedated woman on the bed to the consulting detective who stood facing the window, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared out into the street. John had phoned Mary earlier to update her on Molly's progress before coming to sit in Molly's room, taking a look at her chart hanging off the end of her bed. He had been horrified to read the extent of her injuries and found himself staring at Molly's small, pale form on the bed in wonder. To think that she had suffered through over a month of unimaginable torture and then she had managed to escape on her own was astounding. There was more to the quiet, somewhat shy, Bart's pathologist than he had ever thought.

Seated in the rather comfortable chair John ran his eyes over the still form of Sherlock by the window. He had been surprised that after Molly had passed out in exhaustion in Sherlock's arm that the man had been reluctant to hand her over to the paramedics. The consulting detective's expression had been conflicted as he'd stared down at the small pathologist, running his gloved fingers through her tangled hair ever so gently. John had never seen him that way before - girlfriends, not being his area and all that - but the way Sherlock had been staring at Molly had made John's chest tighten. It had been up to him to pry Molly from his hold so that she could be tended to by the paramedics but Sherlock had stayed close, keeping her in his sights at all times.

Arriving at the hospital Molly had been taken straight through, leaving John and Sherlock in reception. Sherlock had paced pretty much the entire time while John had watched from a chair against the wall. Three hours had passed before a doctor had come to see them, informing them on Molly's condition before taking them to where she was resting. That was how they had come to be where they were now, John in the chair and Sherlock before the window. John scrubbed a hand over his face in exhaustion before standing.

"I'm heading home, Sherlock. I need to get back to Mary and the doctors say that Molly should sleep through the night, possibly waking tomorrow." John sighed as Sherlock didn't even so much as acknowledge that he had heard him. "Did you hear me Sherlock? Will you be alright?"

"Yes, John, fine. Off you go then, you're being annoying with all your hovering." The detective said dismissively without even turning around and John huffed. Sighing again he picked up his coat as he turned towards the door. He looked back at Sherlock while he paused in the doorway.

"At least text me when she wakes up, yeah? Mary and I will visit tomorrow." Sherlock only waved a hand at him in acknowledgement and with a frown John turned away, hoping that the big git didn't make Molly's recovery more difficult than it needed to be.

SHSHSHSHSHSH

The street below the window held a steady stream of traffic, which was not unusual for a hospital. Sherlock watched as a young woman pushed an elderly man in a wheelchair towards a waiting car, a middle aged man stepping out of the driver's side door to greet them. _Terminal cancer, most likely bowel, patient wanting to die in the comfort of his own home. Two days, three max before the disease takes him_. Disease, viruses, infections; they had always held a great fascination to Sherlock. Trying to understand how they worked, how they affected the flesh, and understand how the basic building blocks of life had the ability to turn and destroy it was what he studied when he came to Bart's and worked in the lab. The lab that he hadn't set foot in in months.

The detective's blue-green eyes turned away from the window to the young women who slept in the lone bed, the monitor beside her beeping softly with every beat of her heart. Her auburn coloured hair was dark against the stark whiteness of the pillow beneath her head, curling in soft waves to her shoulders. Her hair had always been beautiful. Despite the seemingly hollow compliments he paid her when he wanted something he truly did find her hair beautiful, especially when it was down. Without even realizing it he was beside the bed, one of his pale hands outstretched and fingering a dark curl of her hair as it draped over her shoulder. It was unbelievably soft beneath his touch, having been washed and brushed earlier by one of the attending nurses once Molly had been put into recovery.

His fingers stroked the sharp curve of her cheekbone, the bruise stark against the paleness of her skin. He should have found her sooner. His fingers curled away from her face and he pulled his hand back, the digits clenching into a fist at his side. Molly should have been his first thought when Moriarty had appeared on every network in the city. Her involvement with his fake death and her past history with Moriarty himself made her a prime candidate for revenge. He had been too consumed with the relief of having his six month sentence suspended indefinitely. And then in the mad rush back to Mycroft's office he had been impatient to track down Moriarty.

His gaze went back to Molly's sleeping face. There was an elf-like quality to her features; the upturned nose, the large, doe-like eyes, the soft, smiling lips that were slightly larger than he first thought. A tightness in his chest had him turning away from her prone from and back to the window.

Sherlock became unaware of the passage of time, his thoughts turned inward, when a low moan rose from the bed behind him. Quickly turning around he found that Molly had begun to shift restlessly in her bed, her arms jerking weakly as her head tossed from side to side. Sherlock went to her bedside, one of his hands outstretched to touch her, yet he hesitated.

All thought about how he shouldn't be swayed by sentiment left him as Molly's face scrunched up in acute pain, a whimpering cry escaping her as she thrashed in the bed. Without hesitation this time Sherlock reached out and grasped her shoulders and shook her lightly, not wanting to injure her further but wanting to wake her from the nightmare he was positive was about her imprisonment.

Suddenly, a keening cry escaped her and Molly started to thrash violently in Sherlock's hold. He tightened the pressure of his hands on her shoulders, calling to her to wake up. She only moved more violently.

A sudden, sharp twist of her body had her stilling, her golden brown eyes snapping open, a choked breath caught in her throat. Sherlock gazed down at her in surprise until she started choking. She coughed and bright red blood sprayed from her mouth.

Heart in his throat Sherlock called out for help as he tried to help Molly breathe. His gaze dropped down to her chest as a dark red bloom began to spread across the fabric of her hospital gown. With a darkly muttered curse he reached out and jabbed the call button.

"Help!" He yelled as he tried to soothe Molly, who was now whimpering and shifting restlessly beneath his hold. "Help! We need help in here!"

His gaze flickered away from Molly's pale face to the commotion of nurses and doctors rushing into the room. Pressure on his hand had him turning to see Molly staring at him, her dark eyes creased with pain, sweat collecting on her brow as wheezing breaths passed through her blood stained lips.

"Sherlock," she gasped breathlessly as Sherlock felt the pressure of bodies forcing him out of the way so they could treat Molly. Fear and desperation, emotions which were becoming all too familiar in solving this case, had Sherlock grasping her face in his hands and pressing a fierce kiss to Molly's forehead before he was forcefully pushed away from the bed and out of the room.

Sherlock stared silently at the closed door before him, the sounds of the nurses and doctors working on Molly muffled. Numbly he realized that his breathing was uneven and that he was trembling. The lump in his throat had not abated and with a shaky exhale Sherlock leant against the wall beside Molly's room. He slid slowly to the floor, elbows resting on knees as he dropped his head into trembling hands. And there he waited, cursing sentiment and hoping beyond hope that Molly would be alright.

 _Let me know what you think!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Hello! A few realisations are made in this chapter. Thanks again to those who have reviewed, favourited and followed! Your interest is so appreciated and welcome._

 _Hope you enjoy the chapter!_

 **Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.**

 **Chapter 6**

"Sherlock?"

The low voice woke the detective from his involuntary doze and had him looking up into the concerned gaze of his best friend.

"Sherlock, what are you doing on the floor? Is Molly alright?" That dreadful lump returned to his throat at John's gentle tone and Sherlock struggled to come up with something to say when a doctor emerged from Molly's room behind them. Sherlock lurched to his feet, bracing himself against the wall to steady his numb legs.

"Doctor." The doctor inclined his head to both Sherlock and John, a sombre expression on his face. Sherlock felt his heart race at that look and his hands clenched at his sides.

"Doctor Taylor, what's happened?" John asked, his expression troubled. Doctor Taylor sighed softly before beginning.

"One of Molly's ribs that had been fractured broke cleanly in two when she moved too quickly, unfortunately piercing through one of her lungs. Blood filled the lung quickly, causing respiratory problems." The doctor looked between the two men, his eyes gentling. "Molly did not survive," he said softly and John felt Sherlock stiffen beside him.

"A sliver of bone had pierced her heart and she lost too much blood. I am very sorry for your loss. Is there anyone we need to – " Sherlock didn't hear the rest of Doctor Taylor's words as he hurriedly pushed past him and towards Molly's room, John's voice calling out to him. The detective slammed to a halt at the foot of Molly's bed, his sharp eyes taking everything in. The pathologist looked to be merely sleeping yet there was a distinctive stillness to her that had his breath hitching in his throat. The bed covers had been pulled up to cover her up to the base of her neck, her pale arms resting at her sides above them. Her auburn hair hung limply around her shoulders, her pale skin almost translucent. Her eyes were closed, the lashes casting sooty half circles against her cheeks.

Sherlock stumbled forward to the side of her bed, not believing what he was seeing, his normally intelligent mind disturbingly silent as he moved closer. Hesitantly, he reached out to shift a strand of her dark hair away from her face, his hand shaking as he pulled it back to his side when he felt how cool her skin had become.

"Molly?" He rasped, his voice catching in his throat and his eyes began to sting. The monitors around her were all switched off and the only sound in the room was his harsh breathing. The smothered feeling in his chest was overwhelming, his heart ached with guilt and something else, something that he desperately didn't want to name, and blindly Sherlock turned and left the room, crashing into John who had been standing in the doorway.

 _"Sherlock? Sherlock!"_

Darkness tunnelled his vision and Sherlock felt himself slip sideways. A strong grasp on his arm gave him a rough shake and had him jerking his eyes open, his head lifting to see John's concerned face above him.

"You alright, mate? You were thrashing around a bit. Bad dream? Any news on Molly yet?"

"What?" Sherlock breathed, his eyes widening and he realized that he was sitting on the floor once more. John looked confused.

"Molly, Sherlock. The hospital called and told Mary and I that Molly had to go into emergency surgery. I thought that was why you were here." John rubbed his hand across his jaw just as the door to Molly's room opened. The consulting detective and his blogger rose to their feet, Sherlock rather unsteadily as his legs were numb from sitting in the same position for so long. John placed a steadying hand on the detective's arm, glancing up at the taller man worriedly before turning his attention to the doctor who had just exited Molly's room.

"Doctor Taylor," John greeted, "How is Molly?"

As the doctor sighed softly Sherlock's heart started to pound. Whether what had just happened to him a few moments ago was a dream or not he wasn't going to wait for the doctor to enlighten him. Without a word Sherlock rushed forward, pushing the doctor out of the way, the man's muffled curse and John's worried shout going unheeded as the consulting detective barged into Molly's room.

Sherlock stopped at the foot of the hospital bed, his breath stilling in his throat when his pale eyes locked onto Molly's form. A nurse beside her was checking the pathologist's monitors and drip, patting the young woman's hand when she was finished. The nurse offered Sherlock a smile on her way past but he didn't acknowledge it, his eyes glued to the heart monitor that was steadily beeping away as Molly slept. The relief that she was alive nearly overwhelmed him and he grasped the bed railing to support his suddenly trembling knees.

"The doctor said that she'll be fine," John said softly behind him as he moved into the room. Sherlock didn't reply, his gaze focused on the mechanical hiss of the respirator that was helping Molly breathe.

"The respirator is only temporary; one of her ribs punctured her lung, causing it to collapse. If her healing goes smoothly she should be off the respirator in a week or so. Still," John sighed softly as his eyes came to rest on Molly's form. "It will be a long road to recovery for her."

The older man glanced up at his quiet friend, taking in the sharp angles of his expressionless face and wondering at the brightness of those blue-green eyes. Almost hesitantly, not wanting to spook his dear friend, John placed a hand on his arm.

"Are you alright, Sherlock?" He finally got a reaction from the detective as he blinked rapidly before glancing down at the blogger. The two stared at each other for a long moment before Sherlock sighed, his eyes turning back to Molly as if drawn by an invisible string.

"This is my fault, John," Sherlock began, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room. John stared at the him, a frown marring his face. While some of the fault did lie with Sherlock he wasn't the only one in this who shouldered the blame. He, too, hadn't realized that Molly was in danger and, really, the only one they should be blaming was Moriarty and John told him so.

"Moriarty is the one who did this to her, Sherlock." John said firmly, not noticing the way that Sherlock's hands were clenching the railing of the bed. "We couldn't have known that he would go straight for Molly-" a low growl cut John off when Sherlock suddenly pushed away from the bed and whirled on the army doctor.

"I should have known!" Sherlock said vehemently as he began to pace at the foot of Molly's bed. "I should have made sure that shot had killed the bastard! Now he is back and determined to follow through on his promise to burn the heart out of me – " Sherlock halted abruptly in his pacing, facing the bed as he stared down at the sleeping Molly with an expression of wonder and realisation on his face.

"Oh," he breathed and John was amazed to see an almost tender expression cross the man's face, something that he had never seen before. All too quickly, however, the soft expression hardened into something that was almost frightening.

"No," Sherlock growled. "No, this is impossible. I won't – _I can't_ – " he broke off suddenly and ran his hands through his hair. John didn't know what to think at the moment, only that Sherlock seemed just as agitated when he had been up against Magnussen or when they had taken on the Baskerville case. Lost in his thoughts for a moment John didn't notice until Sherlock had grasped him by the shoulders that Sherlock had moved. John blinked up at the taller man in surprise at the fierce expression on his face.

"I need to leave, John," Sherlock said quickly. "I need you to stay here with Molly. She's… I can't –"

"I'll look after Molly while you're gone, Sherlock," John interrupted gently, greatly worried for his friend. He didn't know what Sherlock had just realized but he had never seen him struggle to articulate himself like this before. Sherlock seemed to deflate at John's words, his hands dropping from the army doctor's arms.

"Thank you, John," murmured Sherlock. The tall man then turned to the hospital bed that contained Molly who was deeply asleep, the respirator hissing softly with each breath pumped into her lungs. Moving to stand beside Molly's bed Sherlock carefully reached out and brushed a curl of her dark hair away from her cheek, mindful of the oxygen mask and the wires she was hooked up to. John held his breath as Sherlock slowly bent over Molly, the backs of his fingers brushing the curve of her cheek so gently before he lowered his head to press a tender kiss to her forehead. He pulled back and watched her for a moment longer then straightened. With a nod to John Sherlock quickly left the room, his Belstaff coat swirling behind him. John watched him go and then moved to Molly's bed, reaching out to grasp her limp hand gently.

"Well Molly," he said, a soft smile curling his lips and he brushed his thumb across her knuckles. "You better wake up soon. It seems that our resident genius has realized something about you that he doesn't know how to deal with. He'll need you to guide him, luv, and if anyone can do it, you can."

 _Woo! I hope I didn't scare anyone there at the beginning of this chapter! Of course I wouldn't kill off Molly, she's at the center of this little story and I love her to bits! Oh, and forgive any misunderstandings with the medical mumbo jumbo, so not my area, as Sherlock would say. Let me know what you think!_


	7. Chapter 7

_Hi! Sorry for scaring a lot of you with the last chapter! I hope you're all suitably calmed now. Here's the new chapter. It's a bit on the short side and more of a transitional one._

 _Thanks for everyone's support so far and I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think!_

 **Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.**

 **Chapter 7**

Sherlock didn't return to the hospital while Molly was there though he did text for frequent updates on her recovery. John made sure to keep him in the loop and when he wasn't available Mary filled in. Molly had finally begun to breathe on her own and had been staying awake for longer periods of time. She was still exhausted though; after her ordeal with Moriarty and then her injuries worsening her body was taking as much needed rest as possible to heal.

At the moment John was with her. He stood beside the window and looked out into the street below, his eyes glancing down momentarily to the phone he held as Mary texted him. A soft smile curled her lips as she informed him that the baby was kicking nonstop and that she couldn't wait to meet the little one. John too couldn't wait to meet their child. However, with the threat of Moriarty looming over their heads, he couldn't help but worry about the world his child would come into. He was brought out of his musings when he heard a soft sigh and he turned to see Molly sitting up in her bed, rubbing slowly at her eyes as she woke. John shuffled over to her and sat down in the chair beside her bed.

"Hey, sleepyhead," John offered gently, watching her carefully. They had to make sure that they were careful in how they approached her when she woke. She startled very easily and the doctors had warned at all cost not to aggravate her wounds. However, despite John's soft voice Molly flinched and then released a shuddering sigh when she realized it was only John.

"S-sorry," she stuttered, her voice barely above a whisper. John shook his head.

"It's alright Molly. I shouldn't have startled you – " He was cut off when Molly shook her head vehemently, her face scrunched in frustration.

"No! It's not your fault, John. Argh, I'm so sick of being scared all the time, jumping at the smallest noise. It's stupid!" She was getting more and more aggravated with every word and had started slamming her little fists into the bed. Quickly, John leaned forward and placed his hands over hers, stilling her movements.

"Hey, hey, hey," he began firmly but in an infinitely gentle tone. He waited until she looked up at him and felt his chest tighten at the pain in her glistening coffee coloured eyes. "It's not stupid, Molly. What you went through and then getting yourself out, well, that was amazing, and I don't think anyone could have done half as well as you did. It will take time, luv. Lots of time to get over what happened to you and you have Mary and I, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade to help you." He stared into her face for a long moment, seeing the longing in her expression that nearly tore his heart. "And Sherlock, too," he added softly, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles when a single tear escaped and slid down her cheek, a shaky, relieved sigh causing her eyes to slip closed. John waited a few minutes for her to compose herself before telling her the news her doctor and informed him while she had been sleeping.

"Doctor Taylor said that you'll be able to go home tomorrow if your final check today is all clear." The smile that spread across Molly's lips at that sentence brought an answering smile to John's. Molly glanced over at him, giving his hand a squeeze.

"Thank goodness for that. I was thinking I'd never get out of this place." John chuckled softly and returned the squeeze. They stayed in comfortable silence for a moment before Molly frowned. "Do you think it's safe to go back to my flat? Oh! I hope Toby's OK. I forgot all about him – " John hurried to reassure her that Toby was fine, her neighbour had kindly offered to look after him while she was recovering. He was more worried about telling Molly about her new living arrangements.

"Well it has been discussed that your flat is probably not the safest place for you at the moment until the Moriarty situation is dealt with." John began, feeling anxiety twist his stomach and wishing that the consulting git hadn't practically begged him to inform Molly about where she would stay for the remainder of her recovery. Molly frowned and then sighed.

"I suppose you're right. And to be honest, I don't feel all that comfortable being there by myself. Where am I going to stay then? Has Mycroft set up a safe house for me?" At John's questioning look Molly blushed.

"W-well, when I was helping Sherlock after his fall Mycroft had suggested staying in a safe house until Sherlock was well enough to move on…"Seeing the way John's eyebrows were disappearing into his hair Molly's blush deepened and she waved her hands around agitatedly. "Well, obviously that's not happening – "

"It was suggested," John cut in, hoping to ease her embarrassment. "As well as you coming to stay at mine and Mary's – "

"Oh, John, I couldn't possibly impose – "

"However, that suggestion, too, was nixed. It was finally decided that you would stay at Baker Street." Molly's mouth opened and then swiftly shut again, her brows creasing in confusion. John braced himself for her to get angry, which happened surprisingly often when Sherlock or anything related to Sherlock was mentioned these days. So to say he was relieved and baffled by her reply was an understatement.

"Why? Why Baker Street? Surely Sherlock has enough to deal with in tracking down Moriarty than having to deal with babysitting me on top of it." She looked positively bemused by the suggestion and John couldn't help but smile.

"Sherlock felt that it would be the safest place for you and with Mycroft adding a security detail to cover the building you honestly couldn't be safer." At Molly's continued confusion John added, "He wants you close, Molly. When you were taken he… well, I've rarely seen him so focused and… and ruthless." Molly's eyes widened at that before her gaze dropped to her hands that had moved to her lap and were fidgeting with the bed covers. John carefully reached out and grasped her hand, stilling her nervous movements and waited until she met his gaze.

"I know he's a git and that he says and does things that are a bit Not Good, but Molly," and here John stared intently into her eyes, trying to convey the sincerity of his words, "Sherlock truly wants you to stay at Baker Street to recover and until this whole Moriarty thing is over. Do you think you could do that?" Molly searched his eyes for a long moment and when she realised that he was being completely sincere she nodded and John smiled. "Remember, if his acting like a git becomes too much for you Mary and I, and even Mrs. Hudson, will be there to help you. You need only to call." As Molly nodded again John leaned in to kiss her cheek before standing.

"Now you have a few hours before your doctor comes to do your last check up so I suggest you get some more sleep. Mary will be here when you wake. I've got to head in to the clinic for a shift a bit later." Molly smiled gratefully and closed her eyes.

"Thank you, John," she whispered and a moment later was fast asleep. While physically she was well on her way to being completely recovered, mentally and emotionally she was still exhausted. He remembered Mycroft mentioning a psychologist when he had last updated the man but was pulled from his thoughts when his phone vibrated in his pocket, alerting John to an incoming text. Extracting the phone John opened the text.

 _Did she agree?_

 _SH_

John felt a smile quirk his lips as he replied.

 _Yes. If her doctor clears her she'll be there tomorrow._

 _John_

 ** _Let me know what you think! :D_**


	8. Chapter 8

_Hi everyone! Here is the next chapter. It's a bit of a transitional one; Molly needs to get settled in first._

 _Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! Your comments make me so happy and glad to know that you are enjoying my little story. Thanks for the favourites and follows as well, you guys are awesome!_

 _Hope you enjoy!_

 **Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.**

 **Chapter 8**

To say Molly was perturbed by the scene that greeted her in the sitting room of Baker Street would be an understatement. Hesitantly she stood over the threshold, Mary Watson, heavily pregnant, by her side. Sherlock Holmes stood at the window overlooking the street with his back facing them, his elder brother, Mycroft Holmes, sat reclining in what used to be John's armchair, a cup of tea held in his long fingers. Mary nudged the small of her back gently and, gulping nervously, Molly moved forward into the room. Mycroft looked up from his tea.

"Ah, Dr. Hooper. I trust your journey was uneventful?" The older man's tone was lilting and gentle and Molly found herself relaxing marginally. Molly flicked a quivering smile at him as Mary helped her to the couch. Well, they helped each other considering Mary looked ready to topple over with the weight of her unborn child.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes. Rather uneventful. I-I wanted to thank you for the – the protection at the hospital – "

Mycroft waved an imperious hand. "Think nothing of it, my dear. I have found that when it comes to my brother, his friends are always in need of protection." This last comment was sent with a side glance to Sherlock's figure by the window and Molly finally allowed her gaze to fall on him.

"T-thank you, Sherlock, for allowing me to stay here," she said earnestly, truly grateful that he would offer his home to her in her time of need. The consulting detective turned at that when the pointed comment his brother had made seemed to have caused no reaction. Molly felt her breath hitch when she finally got her first good look at him in weeks. His dark hair was shorter than usual, the curls crisp and thick against his forehead. He was wearing one of her favourite shirts, the purple one that conformed to the slim line of his body and used to make her fumble ridiculously in his presence. Molly felt that she had grown considerably after all that had happened, however, and now only felt the frantic fluttering of her heart in seeing him in that shirt. It was his eyes that arrested her when she finally worked up the courage to meet them. Their ever changing blue-green hue had always captivated her but at this moment that was a strange intensity that she had never seen directed at her before. Her breath hitched again and she didn't realize that she was rubbing absently at the place over her heart until Sherlock suddenly crossed the room, knelt before her and reached out to grasp her hand.

"You're in pain," he rumbled softly and squeezed her hand gently in his. Her dark eyes widened at the fierceness of his gaze and his tender touch. Her hand not trapped in his fluttered nervously at her throat. A gusty sigh sounded beside her.

"Of course she's in pain, Sherlock," Mary said in slight exasperation. "She's been through how much in the last few weeks and she still needs rest. While her doctor cleared her to go home he wanted to be certain that she wouldn't be doing anything that would aggravate her still healing ribs. I'm sure you can manage that?" A pointed look from Mary to Sherlock had Molly looking back and forth between the two and she was shocked to see the slightest hint of colour flushing Sherlock's usually pale cheeks.

"Of course," he said quickly, standing abruptly and releasing Molly's hand. Mary smiled.

"Good! Well, now that Molly is in capable hands I am off with this enormous beach ball of a belly home. Oh, this due date cannot come soon enough." She waited for the expected, if somewhat petulant, peck on the cheek from Sherlock; waved jauntily at Mycroft, who raised his tea cup in acknowledgement; and dropped a kiss to Molly's forehead before waddling out of the flat. Her departure soon brought about Mycroft's, who had finally finished his tea. With a few parting words with his brother and a wish that Molly would find herself hail and well in good time he left Molly and Sherlock alone.

Silence reigned in the flat for a time as the two stared at one another, an uncomfortable air settling between them. Their last, true interaction had been so many months ago at Bart's after Sherlock had been found in a drug den flying high as a kite. She had been so disappointed in him, as well as unbelievably worried that he had done that to himself, and her slapping him repeatedly for it had been all that she felt would snap him out of it. And then seeing him in the park after she had escaped Moriarty… it had surprised her how relieved she had been to see him. She loved Sherlock, would always love Sherlock, though the enormous crush she had once had was now deeply ingrained in her heart and would never leave her. It was hard loving someone so much who could be so bent on destroying themselves but Molly knew that whatever Sherlock did she knew that her feelings for him would never change.

A throat clearing had Molly blinking rapidly to focus her gaze and found that Sherlock had been watching her for some time. A flush suffused her face and a hand came up to play nervously with the end of her braid that draped over her shoulder.

"So, ah… you'll be in my bedroom for the duration of your stay. John's old room is on the next floor which would aggravate your ribs excessively traversing the staircase every day. Mrs. Hudson brings breakfast and tea on the mornings I don't have a case but has informed me that she is more than happy to bring meals up to you while you are recovering. I will be here the majority of the time unless a lead in the case takes me elsewhere, though I do ask that you do not disturb me while I am in my Mind Palace. I would like to remind you that you will be perfectly safe here. Mycroft has the flat and the immediate vicinity watched by a security detail that both he and I have screened personally. John and Mary will visit regularly though with the baby's impending due date their time will be preoccupied with getting their home ready for the arrival. Tea?"

Molly could only stare as after Sherlock's rapid fire speech he made his way to the small kitchen and began setting out cups and saucers. His movements were fluid and graceful as always but Molly could detect an underlying tension in the way his long fingers grasped the tea kettle as he set about filling it. With a soft sigh Molly rose from the couch and made her way over to him, contemplating the things he had said and mulling over which question she wanted to ask first. One in particular was forefront in her thoughts and also caused a slight heating in her face.

"Sherlock?" He gave a small hum in acknowledgement as he set the kettle to boiling. Molly wrung her hands anxiously.

"Where will you sleep?" Sherlock didn't glance at her as he busied himself with getting out the sugar and some milk that he had deduced that Molly liked in her tea.

"The couch. Though I rarely sleep while on a case so the argument that you wish to start over how you sleeping in my bed is unfair is rather moot." Molly closed her mouth when she realized her protest would go unheard and instead watched him as he finished making tea and wondered. This man, who had so little interest in the care of others, was actively seeing to hers. She knew that John was a major influence in the changes that had come over Sherlock in the last few years and that Sherlock had grown to greatly care about the people in his life. She just never had thought that he would extend the same courtesy to her.

When she had told him she didn't count that day she'd meant it. Truly, she didn't count. Not in the grand scheme of things anyway. And when he had told her that she did and that he had always trusted her, oh how her heart had ached. It puzzled her that he would want her with him in his home while he tracked down Moriarty. It made no sense to her; she had told him, well John told him, and Mycroft himself what she could of the place she had been held and what she had been made to say under torture. Though, to be honest, her recollection of those meetings had been sketchy at best as she had been heavily medicated but they had told her it couldn't wait. Whatever reason Sherlock had for keeping her close remained elusive and she knew that no amount of prodding would get him to reveal it. So instead she watched him finish making the tea, knowing that being here in Baker Street with him was probably the safest for her physically but emotionally…she could only hope that her silly heart would confine itself to her breast – she had no need for her feelings for him to interfere with her interactions with him during her stay.

Molly smiled gratefully when he handed her a cup of tea, the warmth soothing her slightly chilled hands. They stood in comfortable silence, lost in their own thoughts or in Sherlock's case traversing through his Mind Palace. When Molly had finished her tea she placed it down on the kitchen counter and looked up at him.

"Thank you, Sherlock." She said softly, smiling at him when he gave her a startled blink. "I truly appreciate you doing this for me and hope that if I can be of any assistance to you in this case that you won't hesitate to ask. Now, I'm a bit tired so if it's alright with you I'll go have a bit of a nap. Just over this way, right?" Molly didn't wait for him to reply as she made her way over to his bedroom and opened the door. Before closing it she noticed that he had followed her out into the sitting room, watching her blankly, tea cup still in hand, and with one last smile Molly shut the door gently.

 _Let me know what you think!_


	9. Chapter 9

_Hi everyone! Here's the new chapter and there's a few little moments between Molly and Sherlock :)_

 _Cheers to everyone's support for this story. It is so appreciated and keeps me motivated! Special thanks to all the guest reviewers who I'm unable to reply directly to. Your support and comments are greatly appreciated!_

 _Enjoy the new chapter and let me know what you think!_

 **Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.**

 _ **Chapter 9**_

The couple weeks that Molly Hooper stayed at 221B went by very quickly with very little mishap and her healing was progressing nicely. Twice a week she went to see the psychologist Mycroft had provided and it seemed to really help Molly regain her confidence. She had confided to Sherlock that talking about what happened with someone who didn't know her lifted a huge weight off her shoulders. The fear and humiliation she had suffered through was slowly dissipating with each visit.

It shouldn't have surprised Sherlock that she fit so easily into his daily routine and that she was completely flexible when he had to leave abruptly on a case or clients came at all hours of the day. She was the same when they worked together in the lab at Barts. She was healing well from her injuries and had started making him tea when he worked on his laptop.

Sherlock didn't know how to feel about the sudden domesticity of it all, only that Molly's presence in his flat caused no disruption whatsoever. He had seen the looks John would send him any time he and Mary came over for a visit. An unbearably smug look that showed John thought he knew something Sherlock didn't. Molly enjoyed the Watsons visiting, especially when she was able to feel the baby kick in Mary's oversized belly. When the two women sat together on the couch, Molly's hands smoothing over the roundness of Mary's abdomen and feeling the baby kick, Sherlock would feel an inexplicable tightening in his chest, that same feeling he had when he had been standing at the end of her hospital bed, a feeling that he didn't want to feel, that he was afraid to feel. Sentiment was found on the losing side. How many times had Mycroft drilled that into him when he was a child?

At the moment it was late, well past midnight, and Sherlock was just returning to the flat after another dead end lead on the Moriarty case. It frustrated Sherlock to no end that Moriarty had once again vanished. He didn't like the feeling that he was missing something, especially when it put the lives of his friends in danger.

With a growl Sherlock tore his coat and scarf off, hanging them on the hooks by the door before heading up the stairs. Despite his anger Sherlock made sure to be quiet when he entered the flat. Molly had started the habit of waiting up for him when he went out on cases. This normally wouldn't be a problem but for the last few days he had been returning very late to the flat and usually found Molly dozing fitfully in his chair.

To stop this from happening again Sherlock had done something that by John's standards, most likely anyone's standards, was a bit Not Good. He thought his reasons were perfectly logical; Molly needed the sleep and Sherlock didn't want to have a tired and cranky pathologist on his hands when she was supposed to be getting better. So, with those perfectly logical reasons Sherlock had drugged her tea with sleeping pills. She was no longer on any other medication and he had calculated the dosage to give her a solid eight hours of rest. He'd made sure to hand her the tea before he left, ignoring the look of astonishment she gave him because, other than that first night she came to stay, he hadn't made tea for her again. Without a word she had taken the offered cup and waved at him as he left the flat.

As Sherlock entered the sitting room the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding left him in a soft sigh. The room was empty. Sherlock took in the signs of Molly's movements about the room; the empty tea cup on the coffee table, the Jane Austen novel beside it. One of her blankets that had been brought over with her from her flat was hanging over the back of his chair and Sherlock went over to it, lifting it into his arms as he sat down. He draped it over his legs as he placed his hands beneath his chin, closing his eyes and delving into his mind palace to go over the things he had learnt tonight.

While Sherlock wasn't usually aware of how much time passed while in his mind palace, or even aware of the people in the room with him as John would attest, he felt at least a few hours had come and gone. He was dissatisfied with his progress but until Moriarty wanted to be found Sherlock knew he had very little to go on. Glancing at his watch he knew he could get in a few hours sleep before John was due to come over. Pulling the blanket up to his chin Sherlock curled up in his chair, the fragrant scent of vanilla and lemons filling his nostrils as he held the blanket close. A rush of warmth filled his chest and Sherlock grumbled quietly to himself, annoyed that he seemed to be having an attack of those blasted _feelings_ again. Deciding to grin and bear it, as they say, Sherlock shut his eyes and tried to blank his mind, which was no easy feat.

He was just starting to doze when he was startled by a muffled thump and a soft cry coming from the direction of his bedroom. Instantly alert Sherlock leapt to his feet and dashed over to the set of drawers by the window, pulling out the handgun that lay there. Checking it swiftly Sherlock quickly made his way down the hallway towards his bedroom, his heart beat quickening when more sounds of distress came from within. As he reached the door he very slowly eased it open before bursting into the room, gun drawn and ready. Finding the bedroom empty save for the lone occupant on the bed Sherlock checked the safety on the gun and put it on the dresser before making his way over to the bed, releasing the breath he'd been holding as he looked down.

Molly Hooper laid there, the covers tangled around her legs as she shifted restlessly in her drug induced sleep. A soft, agonised cry escaped her and Sherlock felt his chest constrict tightly as her face scrunched up in acute pain, tears leaking from her closed eyes. She began to thrash against the bedclothes and Sherlock hurried to her side, kneeling on the edge of the bed and placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Molly? Molly, wake up." She continued to twist and turn despite his efforts to wake her. He bit his lip when she began to babble incoherently, pleas to 'stop' and 'don't touch me' escaping her in choked sobs. Knowing that he needed to wake her up Sherlock worried that the drugs were still in her system, making it very difficult to rouse her. Leaving her to fight her demons alone, however, was not an option so Sherlock moved to grasp both her shoulders and gave her a solid shake, calling her name as he did so. Unfortunately this only seemed to aggravate her more as she began to thrash violently, Sherlock only narrowly missing being kneed in the groin by her shifting legs.

Not knowing what to do and feeling out of his depth Sherlock did the only thing he could think of – he slapped her, none too gently across the face. With a shuddering gasp Molly lurched upright and Sherlock hurried to move out of her way though he stayed close by, guilt at having to slap her due to drugging her settling like a heavy stone in his stomach. The young pathologist glanced wildly about her, uncomprehending for a few moments before her wide eyes finally landed on Sherlock. She stared at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly with adrenaline and Sherlock could only watch as her dark eyes flooded with tears and a strangled sob tore itself from her throat. Her hands rose quickly to hide her face, those horrible, gasping sobs shaking her entire body as tears streamed down her pale cheeks.

Watching Molly Hooper fall apart was something Sherlock thought he would never see and had hoped to never see. He sat on the bed beside her for a moment, struggling with his own emotions at seeing her this way before he moved closer and gathered her into his arms, cradling her tightly in his embrace as she quaked. He tucked her head into the curve of his neck and ran his hands over her back soothingly, crooning softly into her hair that it was alright, that she was safe. If someone had said that he would be trying to comfort Molly Hooper a few years ago he would have cut them down with a harsh deduction. But ever since he had returned from being dead, since he had returned from his exile, Sherlock had felt different. He found that he actually cared about his friend's feelings and that he would go out of his way to make sure they were happy.

Molly in particular had become one of those people he wanted to see happy. It had been why he had never made a comment about her ex fiancé Tom beside the comment about her lack of an engagement ring when she had slapped him for being on drugs. Her happiness meant a great deal to him and when he had been told that she was missing he had been filled with a fierce desperation to get her back. And wasn't it just like Molly Hooper to surprise him by escaping her captors by herself?

Sherlock tightened his arms around her. He could feel his skin become wet with her tears and felt her fingers clenching into the fabric over his chest as she wept, her back shuddering beneath his hands as he tried to calm her. She started to babble brokenly that she couldn't wake up, that Moriarty wouldn't let her go, that he would never let her go. Sherlock just tightened his arms around her further, rocking them back and forth gently on the bed.

As her tears slowly subsided and her breathing evened out in sleep once more Sherlock struggled to sort out the rush of emotions that were trying to overwhelm him. While he was normally one who had great control over himself he had been frightened to see her this way. To see her so completely lost in the memory of her imprisonment that she couldn't escape it terrified him. Holding her tightly against him he felt his own eyes sting and found it hard to catch his breath. Trembling he eased himself and Molly to lay on their sides on the bed, holding her close and tucked against him.

While he had promised at John and Mary's wedding that his last vow was to always be there for them Sherlock made one to Molly right then, the intensity of his emotions fuelling his worlds.

"I will do everything in my power to protect you, Molly Hooper. Always," he whispered fiercely and ducked his head down to press a firm kiss to the top of her head. He felt her shuddering sigh against the skin of his throat and Sherlock held her tighter to him, closing his eyes against the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

The light of dawn filtering through the curtain woke Molly the following morning. She slowly opened her eyes, feeling how puffy they were and her mouth tasted like something died in it. She carefully sat up, her hair a birds nest around her head. A great shuddering sigh shook her and with a quiet groan Molly lifted herself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. She brushed her teeth robotically and then tried to make some sense out of her hair. She eventually just tied it into a braid over her shoulder and splashed water on her face to wake herself up more.

As she left the bathroom she grabbed the dark blue dressing gown that hung on the back of the door, sliding it on as she made her way to the kitchen. She paused when she found Sherlock in the kitchen making coffee, a large breakfast spread laid out on the kitchen table. She must have made a sound because Sherlock turned, his expression careful.

Molly felt a flush spreading across her face as memories from the previous night ran through her mind. While she was amazed at how careful he had been with her it worried her how much he had tried to comfort her. She knew he had been way out of his depth. And something about the fact that she had found it so difficult to wake from her memories of her imprisonment made her suspicious. Usually she could wake herself up when the nightmares came but last night had been different. No matter what she did she hadn't been able to wake herself up.

"Breakfast?" Sherlock asked, interrupting her thoughts and Molly nodded distractedly, taking a seat at the table. Once she was seated Sherlock went about finishing the coffee and bringing it over to her, setting it by her hand as she went about buttering a scone.

"Did Mrs. Hudson bring this up?" Molly inquired softly, taking a bite of the warm dough.

"Indeed," Sherlock replied and took the seat across from her, sipping from the steaming mug he held. Silence settled over them as they ate their breakfast. Molly noticed that Sherlock wouldn't meet her gaze when she looked at him and a heavy weight settled in her stomach. He only ever avoided eye contact when he knew he had done something a bit Not Good. Placing her coffee mug down Molly sighed softly, knowing that she probably wouldn't like the answer to what she had to ask.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm." He didn't look up from his mince pie and Molly sighed.

" _Sherlock._ " The firmness of her tone had Sherlock looking up though his eyes darted everywhere but her. "Did you do something to me last night?" The consulting detective did look at her then, his expression affronted.

"Of course not – " Molly cut off his protest.

"Sherlock. Before you left on your case last night did you put something in my tea?" His eyes flickered away from her and it confirmed her suspicions. A shuddering breath left her and it felt like a heavy weight was pressing on her chest, making it suddenly difficult to breathe.

"Why?" Molly whispered, not trying to hide the hurt she felt at her trust being betrayed by someone she considered one of her closest friends. When he refused to meet her gaze Molly felt anger rising up over the hurt.

"Look at me, Sherlock," she demanded, her hands curling into fists on the table. Sherlock sighed quietly before putting down his mince pie and giving Molly his full attention.

"I wanted you to be able to sleep," he admitted. When Molly continued to stare at him Sherlock found himself quickly trying to explain himself. "You have gotten into the habit of waiting up for me to return from cases and would always be exhausted the next day. While I appreciate the concern I didn't want you to risk your health by neglecting to sleep. Therefore, I calculated a dosage of sleeping pills that you would benefit from."

He sounded so earnest that Molly had to close her eyes and exhale softly. Thinking it over she knew that Sherlock probably meant well, that he truly was looking out for her health, but she also knew that she needed to tell him that he couldn't do this again. Opening her eyes again she looked up to see that Sherlock was watching her carefully.

"OK, Sherlock," she began softly. "I understand that you meant well but you can never do that again." Molly sucked in a deep breath and was slightly mortified when she felt tears gathering in her eyes. She needed to tell him, it just hadn't hit her until that moment how hard it was going to be.

"You can never do that again, Sherlock," she repeated. "Ever since I escaped from M-Moriarty I've been having nightmares. Usually I can wake myself up before it gets too bad or my mind warps what actually happened. Last night…" Molly sniffed and scrubbed at a tear that had worked itself free from her lashes.

"Last night…I couldn't wake myself up. I-I couldn't escape from h-him. I could only s-scream and scream, I-I…" her breath caught in her throat and she was unable to hold the tears at bay. Molly looked up at Sherlock with eyes swimming with tears and saw his face contort slightly. She hated that she could hardly control her emotional responses anymore, her abduction and subsequent torture destroying the confidence she had worked so hard to build.

"Please," she whispered, her voice a low croak. "Please don't do that again. I-I need to be able to wake up, Sherlock. I-I can't…I won't sur-survive – " she halted abruptly when Sherlock suddenly stood and made his way around the table and knelt beside her, reaching out to grasp her hands in his. Looking down at him she saw that his brows were furrowed, a frown present on his lips, his eyes bright.

"I won't," Sherlock promised hoarsely, his hands closing tightly around hers. "Forgive me, Molly. I…I didn't know. I – "

"I know," Molly interrupted quietly and squeezed his hands. "Just…never again."

" _Never_ ," Sherlock repeated firmly and surprised her when he lifted her hands to his mouth and pressed his lips to her knuckles. They stayed that way for a few minutes, staring intently at each other. Sherlock was the first to look away, clearing his throat and slowly getting to his feet, releasing his hold on her. He moved back to his side of the table and began clearing away the breakfast dishes and Molly finished off her coffee, watching the consulting detective carefully. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she watched him, her hands tingling still from the warmth of his. Molly informed him that she would be moving to the sitting room a few minutes later and he soon joined her, the two of them sitting in companionable silence as she read her book and he worked on his laptop, the tension from this morning dissipating slowly as they became focused on their tasks.

 _Let me know what you think! :D_


	10. Chapter 10

_Hello! Baby Watson has arrived, about time too! This is the lead up to some big action in the next couple of chapters._

 _Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favourited and is following this little story! Your continued support is so appreciated and I love reading everyone's comments._

 _Enjoy the chapter and let me know what you think!_

 **Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.**

 **Chapter 10**

A week passed quickly, Sherlock and Molly settling into a comfortable routine. After his promise to never drug her tea again she had compromised that if he didn't return to the flat by midnight she would go to bed. Surprisingly to Molly, only once in the last week had Sherlock not returned to the flat before midnight; he and John had been detained for the night when they had been caught trespassing on private property.

Molly was feeling particularly good, enjoying visits from Mary, who was about ready to pop, and her injuries were pretty much healed. She felt confident that she would be able to return to work soon and could hardly wait to get back to the job she loved so much.

At the moment she was currently working through her emails, an update on how the morgue was going in her absence making her laugh when Mike Stamford shared his frustration over her replacement. The sound of the door shutting down stairs had her glancing sideways, her eyes watching intently as Sherlock strode into the flat. Her breath caught as he ran a hand through his dark curls, the buttons of his grey shirt straining with the motion. She silently berated herself when she realized she was staring stupidly and quickly returned her attention to the laptop before her.

When she heard no movement from the direction Sherlock stood, curiosity got the best of her and she turned her head to glance at him, her dark eyes widening when she found him watching her, an unreadable expression on his face. Their eyes locked and Molly felt her heart flutter and heat rush through her as his beautiful eyes searched her face for a moment before he cleared his throat.

It had been happening more and more often lately. Molly would be doing something, reading, watching the telly, when she would feel Sherlock's gaze on her. She would turn to face him, finding him watching her, their eyes locking for a heartbeat before he would drop his stare and return to whatever he was doing. It unnerved her as well as thrilled her that she seemed to have his attention. When she had mentioned it to Mary her friend had laughed softly before muttering something along the lines of, "about time the idiot pulled his head out of his arse."

Molly hadn't known what to make of it but ultimately decided that she would wait and see what happened. Sherlock took a step towards her, his hands sliding into the pockets of his trousers.

"Molly – " he paused when his phone vibrated in his pocket and, with a quick glance at her, he pulled it out and answered it. Molly watched him intently when his expressions changed rapidly over what was being said on the phone, the one most prominent being shock as he slowly lowered the phone. Concerned, Molly rose to her feet and made her way towards him.

"Sherlock? What is it, are you alright?" His eyes dropped to hers and after staring at her silently for a few moments a smile slowly spread across his face.

"Mary is having the baby," he murmured and Molly squealed in shock before springing into motion. She hurried down the hallway to the bedroom and put her shoes on, grabbing her coat as she raced back down to the sitting room, finding Sherlock just as she'd left him. Without thought she reached out and grabbed his hand, tugging him along behind her.

"Well, come on! We need to get to the hospital," Molly exclaimed as they made their way down the stairs, Sherlock grabbing his coat from the hook on his way out the door. In the street he raised a hand and a cab pulled up in front of them. Wasting no time they got in, Molly's legs bouncing in excitement as she thought about meeting the new addition to the Watson family. After all the horror of being taken and tortured, and then suffering through the healing process and recurring nightmares, the impending birth was a lovely distraction. In her excitement she reached out and grasped Sherlock's hand that was resting on the seat between them. Realizing what she had done she went to pull her hand back when his fingers curled tightly around her own, trapping her hand in his. Molly looked up and found that he was watching her quietly, his pale eyes gentle, and Molly found herself smiling. Sherlock's lips curled slightly at the corners and Molly squeezed his hand before turning to look out the window. When Sherlock squeezed her hand in return Molly watched her reflection in the window, her smile widening.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSH

"Oh Mary, she's beautiful!" Molly gushed as she carefully cradled Elizabeth Rose Watson in her arms. Mary smiled, her expression conveying her exhaustion as she lay in the hospital bed and leant her head against John's shoulder, who sat beside her on the bed.

Sherlock stood to the side, watching Molly intently as she cooed at the baby. That infernal constricting in his chest had returned but he ignored it, his lips curling in response to Molly's laugh when the baby gurgled at her. Feeling eyes on him Sherlock turned his head to see John watching him curiously, Mary fast asleep on his shoulder.

"What?" If that sounded slightly defensive Sherlock would never admit it. John smiled.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing," John answered. "Thank you for being here, mate." The sincerity in his voice was easy to hear. Sherlock nodded and moved closer to the bed, his eyes drifting back to the baby and the woman who held her.

"She is beautiful, John," Sherlock murmured quietly. John smiled.

"That she is. They both are." At that Sherlock's gaze swung around to his best friend, his pale eyes narrowed, but when he met John's steady stare he felt heat rush to his face and dropped his eyes to stare at his feet. The sound of footsteps on the linoleum floor had Sherlock looking up as Molly moved back to the bed, little Elizabeth fast asleep in her arms.

"The little one's all tuckered out," Molly said quietly, lifting her gaze from the baby's peaceful features to the other occupants of the room. "As it seems mummy is too," she inclined her head towards the sleeping Mary. John nodded and stood carefully, resting Mary's head against the pillow before coming forward to take Elizabeth from Molly's arms.

As John was placing the baby in the crib beside the bed Sherlock started to towards the door. Molly watched him carefully, noticing the hard set of his shoulders and the tight clenching of his jaw. The detective quietly slipped out of the room and Molly turned to face John who came to stand beside her with a frown on his face.

"Sorry, John," Molly began gently. "Now that the baby's born I think Sherlock is worried that Moriarty will finally make a move."

John nodded. "I know. To be honest I'm terrified that Moriarty will do something." The retired army doctor sighed and turned to face her. "How are you doing? The nightmares-"

"I'm managing," Molly said, shrugging. "I don't think they will ever completely disappear but...but I'm doing alright. Funnily enough, living with Sherlock I've never felt safer." John and Molly shared a smile at that before a serious expression formed on John's face.

"Look after him, would you?" He asked softly, worry colouring his voice. "Lately, you're the only one he will listen to. And, truly, thank you for coming, Molly. Lizzy and Mary are so exhausted and that you were able to get Lizzy to sleep – "

"It's fine, John," Molly interrupted him gently. The poor man looked dead on his feet. "You need to get some rest, too. I'll look after Sherlock as much as he'll let me but you need to look after yourself. We'll always be here if you need us." They embraced before Molly left the room in search of the consulting detective.

She found him further down the corridor, the tall man pacing agitatedly back and forth across its width. As he was about to take another turn Molly carefully reached out and grasped his arm. He halted beside her, blinking quickly as if her touch had awoken him.

"They'll be fine, Sherlock," Molly assured. Sherlock gazed down at her for a long moment, his stare deep and penetrating and Molly felt her breath hitch when a flicker of what she thought was tenderness flashed through his eyes. The emotion passed quickly though for he pulled away from her and agitatedly ran his hands through his curls.

"Of course they will. Mycroft has his best men watching them every moment of the day. My own people have been keeping me informed as well. But Moriarty is clever. No matter what I have done in the past he has always been able to change the game just when I think I have him. Oh, it's infuriating!" Molly jumped a little when he raised his voice. "He will come after John now that he's vulnerable. Mary will be in no fit state to protect them for at least two weeks and then there is Elizabeth – " He froze in his tirade when Molly stepped into his path and rested her hands gently against his chest.

"I know you're worried, Sherlock. But until Moriarty does something all we can do is make sure that John and his family have all the protection they need. They will be fine, trust me," Molly finished firmly, smiling up at him. Sherlock stared at her intently, his eyes travelling over every inch of her face before locking with hers. His hands suddenly came up and pressed against her own on his chest and he moved closer to her.

"And you," he murmured and Molly stared at him, bewildered.

"Me, what?"

"You must be protected." Molly's eyes widened and she felt a shiver rush up her spine when one of Sherlock's thumbs circled gently over the skin on the back of her hand. The air seemed charged and she was suddenly finding it difficult to catch her breath. The moment was broken when an orderly moved passed them pushing a trolley and Molly stepped away from Sherlock. He didn't let her get too far however, keeping a firm grip on one of her hands as he began to lead her down the corridor.

"Come, Molly. There is much to do."

 _Thanks for reading!_


	11. Chapter 11

_Hello everyone! Here is the new chapter and it is where Jim's plan comes into play once more._

 _Thanks again to all my reviewers, particularly my guests, who unfortunately I cannot reply to. Your comments and support are awesome!_

 _I hope you enjoy the chapter and please, please,_ please _let me know what you think! I would love to know what you think Jim has planned. :D_

 **Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.**

 **Chapter 11**

Despite the fear that Moriarty would make his move, two weeks passed with little incident. Elizabeth was settling in nicely at home though every time Molly spoke to Mary the new mum sounded completely exhausted. On top of that, Sherlock was almost unbearable to live with at the moment, his behaviour erratic and unpredictable, and it was driving Molly spare. He was spending more and more time out of the flat than in it, following leads and making contact with his homeless network.

Molly nervously paced the sitting room after just finishing sending off an email to Mike Stamford about returning to work. She felt it was time; her injuries had healed nicely and after months of silence from Moriarty she felt ready to return to work. She bit her lip nervously as she heard the slam of the front door downstairs followed shortly by Mrs. Hudson's exclamation of surprise. She was not looking forward to Sherlock's reaction to her wanting to return to work. Ever since Elizabeth's birth Sherlock had been relentless in the protection of his friends and, while knowing he only wanted to protect them, Molly was beginning to feel suffocated. It surprised her that she felt this way about a man she had loved for so long but she needed to get back to her life; she wanted to feel useful again and being trapped in this flat for weeks on end truly made her feel about as useless to Sherlock as she imagined Anderson was. Molly shook her head, feeling guilty for thinking ill of the former forensic specialist.

She was brought out of her thoughts as the consulting detective entered the flat, rolling the sleeves of his shirt as he moved towards his chair. Molly watched him silently, trying to calm her racing heart. Taking a deep breath she moved towards him. It was now or never.

"Sherlock," she began tentatively as Sherlock closed his eyes without glancing in her direction, his hands rising to press together beneath his chin.

"Not now, Molly," he muttered and Molly felt a flush of anger fill her at being so casually dismissed. He had been rather short with her since the baby had been born and Molly had no idea what she had done to deserve this new treatment. Frankly, she would no longer tolerate it. Molly made her way towards his chair and stared down at the top of his dark curly head.

"Sherlock, I'll be returning to work tomorrow. I just thought I would inform you before I start preparing dinner." She was proud of herself for delivering that so firmly and turned towards the kitchen.

"What?" Molly paused at the sound of Sherlock's voice and turned her head. He stood from his chair and walked towards her, his expression dark. Molly sighed and turned to face him fully.

"I'm returning to work tomorrow. I've already organised it with Mike and – "

"No." Molly blinked, startled. Sherlock's tone was harsh and her eyebrow rose.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock huffed and turned away from her, heading towards the large windows that overlooked the street below.

"No, you will not be returning to work tomorrow."

"I don't see how it is any of your business, Sherlock," Molly started, annoyed at his tone and his refusal to look at her. "I was just being kind in telling you my plans." Sherlock scoffed.

"It is too dangerous, Molly."

"It has been months since Moriarty has done anything and every lead you've had the last few weeks has been a goose chase." She argued, moving further into the sitting area until she was standing just behind him.

"My injuries have healed, I hardly have nightmares anymore," Molly paused, biting her lip as she stared at Sherlock's broad back. "I'm useless here, Sherlock. I can't do anything to help you trapped in this flat."

"I don't need your help," Sherlock muttered, his back facing her and Molly blinked rapidly, the sting of tears pricking her eyes. Those words hurt, like a knife had been stabbed into her heart. It seemed Sherlock was back in good form today. Well, if he truly felt that way then she was right in wanting to return to work. At least there she could be useful, help people.

"Well," Molly said softly, her voice trembling. "Then I was right, my presence is no longer needed here. I'll pack my things." She turned to head towards the bedroom to do just that, not wanting Sherlock to see how his words affected her, when she felt a hand clamp down on her forearm. She turned to see Sherlock beside her, his gaze focused on his hand on her arm.

"You can't leave," he said softly, his grip tightening on her arm. Molly frowned.

"I can't stay here, Sherlock. I feel like I'm suffocating, I haven't been out of the flat in weeks. I'm going back to work – "

"It's too dangerous – "

"Then give me a security detail!" Molly exclaimed, wrenching her arm free from his grip and facing him completely. "Get your brother to have some of his men take me to and from work, whatever will make _you_ feel better." Her tone was filled with bitterness but Sherlock merely shook his head.

"It's not that simple – "

"Then make it simple! I can't stay here a moment longer, Sherlock. You barely talk to me when you're here, I haven't seen any of my friends in months, I need to feel useful again and it's obvious you don't need me anymore – " Molly gasped when Sherlock seized her by the shoulders and pulled her close to him, his expression fierce.

"I do need you," Sherlock uttered fervently, his eyes roaming her face intently. "I do need you and you have always counted. I have always trusted you. I need you to trust me now, Molly." She was silent when he finished, their gazes locked and Molly searched his eyes carefully. Her heart fluttered at the expression on his face but she knew he was only worried for her safety. She sighed after a moment.

"I do trust you, Sherlock." Molly said softly, her dark eyes meeting his pale ones. "But I need to go back to work." She gently extricated herself from his hold and took a step back. "I need to go pack." She had barely turned away when Sherlock grabbed her arm once more and pulled her to him.

"Sherlock – "

" _Please_ , Molly," Sherlock pleaded, his hands sliding down to tightly grip her hands. "I need you to stay here, I need to know that you are safe." Molly squeezed the hands that held hers, surprised at his insistence and not comprehending it. What did it matter if she returned to work? It wouldn't interfere with the case; Mycroft's men could watch her. She didn't understand.

"Why, Sherlock?" She asked, truly wanting to know the answer. Being here with him since leaving the hospital, seeing the way he watched her, the comments that Mary made regarding how Sherlock felt about her, had a tentative hope rising in her battered heart that perhaps Sherlock did care more for her than he had let on. But the last two weeks, with Sherlock withdrawing from her and only speaking to her just to order her around, had been hell and she just needed to take a break. There was only so much that her battered heart could take.

"Why?" She repeated when he remained silent and Molly one again felt those traitorous tears fill her eyes. She went to pull away but Sherlock tugged her back, one of his hands rising to touch her cheek. Molly's eyes widened as his fingers caressed her skin, his eyes focused intently on her own as he swallowed visibly.

"Molly, I – "

Whatever he was about to say she never heard for the window they were standing before exploded, tearing her away from Sherlock and into the desk. Molly's head hit the wood hard and her last thought was of Sherlock as the world went dark.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSH

Sherlock groaned, a hand rising to his head as he tried to get his bearings. His ears were ringing and he felt as if he had been punched in the chest. Rolling onto his hands and knees Sherlock coughed and blinked rapidly against the settling dust. As he sorted through his thoughts of what happened one thought immediately jumped to the forefront. _Molly!_ Frantic, Sherlock struggled to sit upright, gasping when he felt a sharp pain digging into his side.

"Molly? Molly!" Sherlock struggled to his knees when she didn't reply, and coughed when his lungs filled with dust, his heart racing in fear. " _Molly!"_

A dark shape moved to his left and Sherlock turned his head. He froze when the large figure stepped out of the smoke and dust and took in the man's features, recognizing him to be Moriarty's right hand, Sebastian Moran, from Molly's description of him. Sherlock's eyes widened when he saw Molly's unconscious form draped over Moran's broad shoulders. Her hair was matted with blood and Sherlock's chest tightened with dread. He must have made a sound for Moran turned to him, a dark smile stretching the scar at the corner of his mouth.

"Ah, Mister Holmes, awake I see." Moran moved towards him. Sherlock watched him warily, barely breathing, struggling to keep his eyes from straying to Molly's limp form instead of focusing on the threat before him. "I just came to pick up something that Jim has been missing. If you want her back Jim will be waiting." He made to move passed Sherlock but paused.

"Oh, and he sends his regards." Before Sherlock could react Moran slammed the butt of his gun into the side of Sherlock's head. Darkness rushed in and, as Moran walked away, Molly's dark hair was the last thing he saw, her name leaving his lips on a desperate whisper.

 _Let me know what you think!_


	12. Chapter 12

_Hi everyone! Sorry for not updating sooner. Life has been busy! This chapter deals with the aftermath of the explosion and I really hope you enjoy it._

 _Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed and favourited this story - your continued support is greatly motivating and appreciated!_

 _Enjoy and please leave a comment to let me know what you think!_

 **Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.**

 **Chapter 12**

"Sherlock! Sherlock! _Damn it_ – Mary, call Mycroft and get a paramedic up here," John's voice was muffled and low as Sherlock slowly came to. The consulting detective could hear the hurried footsteps of Mary leaving the room and descending the staircase. Sherlock's attention turned to his dear friend and took in John's worried face.

"I'm alright," Sherlock rasped as he struggled to sit upright, thankful for John's supportive arm around his back. His head ached and he was finding it difficult to organise his thoughts. "How long was I out?"

"We're not sure, we only just arrived. Mrs. Hudson phoned to tell us that there'd been an explosion. What happened, Sherlock? Where's Molly?" Sherlock's eyes widened. _Molly!_ His heart threatening to choke him as it lodged in his throat he pushed himself to his feet, grateful for John's steadying hand as he stumbled. He was overcome with a coughing fit, his ribs aching as he straightened to his full height.

"He's got her," Sherlock said gruffly and John frowned.

"Moriarty," John stated, though disbelief clouded his tone. Sherlock nodded and moved towards the kitchen where his coat had landed in the blast. He winced as he bent to pick it up, his ribs protesting, and he fished out his phone, a plan already formulating in his mind.

"Yes. Moriarty's right hand man paid us a call. He took Molly." His hand clenched tightly on his phone at the thought of Molly in the hands of those psychopaths once more. He lifted his head to see John make his way through the debris towards him.

"I will get her back and end Moriarty's game once and for all." Sherlock said with finality, his voice deep and rough with emotion. His light blue eyes connected with John's darker ones. "I need your help, John. And Mary," he added even as John gave him a firm nod.

"You have it. And I can guarantee that Mary would help whether you asked her or not." The two friends shared a look of understanding just as Mary hurried back up the stairs, a paramedic and Greg Lestrade right behind her. When Mary saw Sherlock standing she rushed over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist in relief. She muttered an apology when he winced and drew back, moving to stand beside her husband, grasping his hand tightly with her own.

Sherlock waved the paramedic aside when the young man tried to clean the cut on the side of his head, his eyes glued to his phone in his hand as it vibrated.

"Mycroft's sending a car," Lestrade said as he moved further into the room, his eyes wide as he took in the destruction of the flat. John nodded though his gaze snapped to Sherlock as the man made a strangled sound in his throat, his eyes locked onto the phone lit up in his palm. John felt Mary shift beside him.

"Sherlock? What is it?" She moved towards the tall man, her hand fluttering to her mouth when she spotted the image that Sherlock had received in a text message, horrified and angry tears filling her eyes. John and Lestrade quickly moved to follow, both men cursing softly as the image of a bound and gagged Molly Hooper filled their vision. The pathologist was tied to a chair with a piece of cloth across her mouth, her auburn hair matted with the blood that covered the left side of her face. Her eyes were wide but, what was truly frightening to the group, they were completely expressionless, as if the young woman had given up.

John noticed that Sherlock's hand was turning white with how hard he was gripping the phone and the younger man was trembling. He looked up at him and was shocked at the expression on Sherlock's face. His jaw was clenched so hard John was surprised he hadn't cracked his teeth but it was the eyes that scared him – they were almost colourless, the pupils pinpricks, filled with a rage John had never seen in them before, not even when Mrs. Hudson had been attacked.

"Sherlock," John said firmly, grasping the younger man's arm to gain his attention. He waited until Sherlock looked at him and tried not to shiver at the pure hatred that filled those pale eyes. "Do you know where she is?" Sherlock stared at John for a long moment before he shook himself slightly, a shuddering breath escaping him. He refocused his gaze to the image on his phone, taking in what he could see behind Molly. It only took him seconds.

"He's taken her to where it all began, John," Sherlock answered. John's eyes widened.

"The pool." Sherlock nodded in confirmation and began to slide his coat on. The sound of a phone ringing drew everyone's attention to Lestrade as he answered it. Moments later he hung up.

"The car's arrived. It will take you anywhere you need to go," Lestrade said and everyone went into motion. The paramedic stood to the side for a moment before hurrying downstairs, finally realizing he was not needed. The rest of the group were just about to follow when Sherlock's phone vibrated once more. The consulting detective paused in the doorway as he lifted the phone. It was another image, followed by a text message from what John could see. Revulsion and rage filled the ex-army doctor as he took in the image: Molly was still bound and gagged but this time Moriarty was beside her, his lips pressed against her cheek. It was the helplessness in her eyes and the single tear streaking her cheek that caused his heart to ache and looking at Sherlock John could only imagine how the man felt.

 _"Do you miss us? We miss you! It's your move, Sherlock."_

"Sherlock?" Mary gasped softly beside him when Sherlock turned and John saw those pale blue eyes glistening brightly, his face white, his lips pressed tightly together. John's own breath caught in his throat at his friend's expression but he knew that Sherlock needed him right now. He reached forward and grasped Sherlock's shoulder.

"We'll get her back, mate," John said firmly, locking his gaze with Sherlock's. "Whatever you need us to do, we will help you get her back." After a moment Sherlock nodded, his eyes bright, and then turned, striding out of the room and down the stairs. John shared a quick, determined look with his wife and Lestrade before following after his best friend.

SHSHSHSHSHSH

The car took them to the Diogenes Club and they were ushered through to a private conference room where Mycroft Holmes waited for them. Plans to retrieve Molly and eliminate Moriarty once and for all were made quickly and efficiently. Sherlock was ruthless in his delivery and demanded that Mycroft didn't make his move until Sherlock was ready. It surprised John somewhat how quickly Mycroft capitulated. He'd heard enough from Sherlock how sentiment was found on the losing side but the fact that Sherlock had changed these last few months, particularly since his return from the dead, and now Mycroft was on board made John realize how much everything had changed.

John was brought out of his thoughts when the British Government stood and moved out from behind his desk. The older man tugged at the sleeves of his suit jacket for a moment and then came to stand before his younger brother.

"Be careful, brother mine," Mycroft murmured, his normally mocking expression nowhere to be seen, his blue eyes gentle. "My men will be there as soon as you call." The younger Holmes stared at his brother before nodding.

"Thank you," Sherlock whispered and then turned on his heel, leaving the room with John and Mary behind him. As they made it into the street a sleek black car pulled up to the curb. As Sherlock stepped forward to enter the vehicle Mary reached out and grasped his arm. His head flicked up to look at her seconds before she wrapped her arms around him. He remained tense in her embrace but his hands lightly touched her back.

"We'll get her back, Sherlock," Mary said, determination colouring her voice. "There can be no other outcome." As they parted Mary looked up into Sherlock's face, her heart twisting at his expression. His heart pounded beneath her hand as he bent his head, brushing a kiss against her forehead. Her eyes stung as he turned away and ducked into the waiting vehicle Mycroft had arranged. Mary turned to her husband who quickly stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms. They held each other tightly for a moment before sharing a sweet kiss.

"You be careful, you hear? And don't worry about Lizzy – Mrs. Hudson will take good care of her." John assured her softly and Mary smiled tightly.

"I will and I know. You have your gun?" John patted his hip in answer.

"You?"

"Mycroft is supplying one." John nodded and quickly pressed another kiss against her lips. Their heads turned to the car for a moment.

"He really loves her," John murmured and Mary sighed, nodding.

"He really does. It will destroy him if something happens to Molly." Mary looked back up at her husband. "Please, _please_ , be careful." John pressed one last kiss to her lips.

"Love you," He murmured as he let go of her and moved towards the car.

"Love you, too." Mary called softly as he slipped into the car, the vehicle pulling away from the curb before the door had even shut. Mary let out a shuddering sigh, her thoughts briefly going to her young daughter and then moving onto poor Molly. She knew that Sherlock's plan was sound but something could go wrong. She straightened her shoulders just as another black car pulled up and as she got in she could only hope that the plan would go off without a hitch.

 _Thanks for reading and let me know what you think! :D_


	13. Chapter 13

_Hello everyone! Here is the new chapter and it is the lead up to the crap finally hitting the fan in the next chapter so you won't have to wait too much longer._

 _Big thank yous to all the reviews, follows and favourites this story has received. It is really wonderful to read your encouraging and excited comments. I was getting worried that interest in this little story was waning. Please drop a review if you like the chapter or want to share your thoughts on what you think is going to happen, I would greatly appreciate your comments!_

 _In this chapter we start with Molly and see what's happening with her since being taken by Moriarty again and Sherlock has a little flashback of a moment with Molly :)_

 _Enjoy!_

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the characters.**

 **Chapter 13**

Molly sat numbly in the chair she had been strapped to. Sebastian Moran leant against the wall across from her, his arms folded over his chest. Jim Moriarty was nowhere to be seen but Molly knew it was only a matter of time before he came back. It had revolted her that when he had first arrived he had taken a few photos of her on his phone, bound and gagged in a chair. No doubt that he would be sending them to Sherlock to taunt him. And then he had taken another photo, this time pressing his lips against her cheek. A traitorous tear had slid down her cheek as overwhelming helplessness had filled her. Moriarty had disappeared soon after that, his eyes locked on his phone as he left the room.

With nothing but her thoughts to dwell on, Moran's presence across from her almost oppressive, her thoughts drifted to those last few moments she had been talking to Sherlock before the window exploded. _Was he alright?_ Moran had said nothing to her after she had regained consciousness, his gaze hard and impenetrable. She had no idea if Sherlock was hurt or if the others knew about the explosion. She could only hope that John found him and that he was OK. The door to the room where she was being held swung open and Moriarty strolled in, his hands idly brushing imaginary dust from his expensive suit.

"Ah, Molly love! Finally decided to join us," Moriarty began gleefully and sat straddling the empty chair before her. He crossed his arms on top of the back of the chair, resting his chin on them as he smiled. "What? Nothing to say?" Molly just stared at him, her heart beating erratically in her chest. She didn't want to be here, wanted nothing more than to be in Sherlock's sitting room, awaiting the words she felt would change what they were to each other forever. A resounding slap across her face had Molly reeling, her head snapping to the side from the blow.

"I asked you a question!" Moriarty roared. Tears filled her eyes as she turned back to face him and she bit her lip harshly in an effort to contain them. Before, when he had held her captive the first time, she had been unable to stop him seeing her weaknesses, to see her break, but no more. Resolutely, Molly met his dark gaze.

"I have nothing to say to you," she said, quietly but firmly, with only a hint of a tremor in her voice. Moriarty stared at her a moment before throwing his head back and laughing.

"You hear that, Seb? What a doll you are! I guess letting you escape from us gave you that backbone you've been missing all these years." Molly's eyes widened at his words. _Let me escape?_ Moriarty grinned knowingly at her.

"You really didn't think that you escaped by accident did you? It was all part of the plan. You see, Molly doll, we had to let you go, to let Sherlock find you." The consulting criminal's eyes hardened and he leant towards her, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "He had to realise what you truly meant to him. And now I finally have his heart." He leaned back, his serious expression morphing into a pleasant one as he clapped his hands.

"Well, this has been an absolute treat! Now you just wait here while I make the final preparations. Can't have our darling Sherlock solving my game too quickly now, can we?" Moriarty said cheerfully and, with a nod towards Moran, he left the room, the larger man trailing behind him.

As the door shut Molly was left alone, Moriarty's words swimming around chaotically in her mind. She struggled to understand them as they couldn't possibly be true, could they? She wasn't Sherlock's heart; that was ridiculous! _Right?_ Her thoughts drifted to the times when she had found Sherlock watching her, that strange, almost tender expression on his face. And then there had been their conversation just before the explosion, the vulnerability she had seen in his eyes...

 _Oh..._

Tears welled in Molly's eyes as the sudden realisation came upon her. Helplessness and despair filled her and she closed her eyes, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. Whatever Moriarty's plan, she hoped with all her aching heart that Sherlock would be able to thwart it.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSH

The ride to the pool had been silent, much to Sherlock's relief. There was little his mind could focus on but the plan and Molly Hooper. His chest ached at the thought of what was being done to her at that very moment but Sherlock shoved it from his mind, his teeth clenching to the point of pain. What he felt for Molly Hooper had been steadily growing deeper since his return from faking his death but he had never acted on it. He had known that Molly had moved on with Tom when he'd returned though he could now admit to himself that he had felt the loss of her undivided affection deeply. When he had deduced that the engagement had broken that day she had slapped him, the sudden relief and hope he had felt in that moment had almost buckled his knees; would have too if her anger and disappointment in him hadn't kept him rooted to the spot in shame.

His understanding of what he truly felt for the small pathologist came to a head when he had seen Molly in her hospital bed after she had been found. The realization of why Moriarty had gone to the trouble of taking Molly in the first place had made Sherlock's blood run cold yet he wasn't willing to admit it aloud. And living with Molly the last few months hadn't helped him forget his feelings, as much as he had tried to ignore the blasted things.

As the buildings and cars flashed by the car windows, Sherlock found his mind drawn to a memory of Molly that happened just before baby Watson had been born…

... _Frustrated over another false lead in the Moriarty case Sherlock paced the length of his flat, his hands tugging at his hair in agitation. Molly had been sitting on the couch, her legs curled up as she read the latest pathology magazine, but had stopped when Sherlock stepped over the coffee table, muttering under his breath._

 _Sherlock was so caught up in his thoughts that he was surprised when Molly suddenly grasped his arm as he passed her and pulled him down onto the couch. He landed rather haphazardly, his shoulders and head landing in her lap. Spluttering, he made to get up when he felt Molly's hand in his hair._

 _"Just let me, Sherlock," Molly murmured quietly and Sherlock's eyes flickered up to her face bent over him in confusion, his heart fluttering in his chest and his pulse thumping erratically in his throat. "You've been running yourself ragged for days; you need a break. I know that you think you're invincible but you're still a man, Sherlock, and men need to sleep every few days at least. So please, let me do this for you, after all that you have done for me."_

 _The consulting detective stared up at Molly for a long moment, getting lost in the warm brown of her eyes, before closing his own and nodding slightly against her hand. He missed the smile she gave him but for the next little while Sherlock had found a peace and comfort in the soft tugging of Molly's fingers through his curls and the warmth of her thighs beneath his shoulders._

 _Sherlock didn't know when he had fallen asleep but he had awoken some time later feeling refreshed and ready to tackle the case once more. It was when he sat up that he realised a pillow had been placed beneath his head and the throw that usually hung over the back of the couch was draped over him. When he sat up he caught movement out the corner of his eye and found Molly in the kitchen making tea. He must have made a sound for she turned and Sherlock's heart constricted at the sight of her; the soft glow of the afternoon sun lit Molly from behind, bringing out the golden and red streaks in her unbound hair. Her pale skin looked soft and rosy and her brown eyes glittered warmly as she smiled at him. Unbidden, Sherlock felt an answering smile lift the corners of his mouth, the feeling spreading through his chest hard to ignore and one that he didn't really wish to…_

He was brought out of his thoughts when the car came to a stop and John nudged him. He stared out the window, taking in the dark building that was lit by the bright street lights, and took in a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart at the thought of what he would find inside. From what Mycroft had told him the building had been left in disrepair after one of the central supporting pillars suffered structural damage shortly after the first time they had encountered Moriarty. He was brought out of his thoughts when John grasped his shoulder.

"It will be alright, Sherlock." The consulting detective glanced over at his friend, taking strength from John's firm hold and gaze. Nodding curtly, Sherlock exited the vehicle, John right behind him.

"The plan, John," Sherlock muttered before striding forward towards the building. John nodded and went after him, a hand going to his waist where his handgun resided.

 _Boom! The boys are going in. Action and drama and suspense, oh my! Please let me know what you think!_


	14. Chapter 14

_Hi everyone! This chapter is full of action and drama, so strap yourselves in! To be honest, the ending scene in this chapter is what got me started on writing up this story. I really hope you enjoy it._

 _Cheers to all the follows and favourites and the few who have reviewed. Your support and comments are always appreciated!_

 _Please leave a review and let me know what you think!_

 **Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.**

 **Chapter 14**

It was just as he remembered all those years ago when James Moriarty first became known to Sherlock Holmes. The pool area was dark; the low, scattered lights reflecting off the slightly murky water that filled the swimming pool. Abandonment and disrepair showed clearly as Sherlock scanned his eyes about him; left out equipment; cobwebs collecting in doorways and corners; broken light fixtures. The only noise that filled the high ceilinged room was the sound of their echoing footsteps and the gentle lapping of the water.

Sherlock walked to the edge of the pool, John standing beside him. Neither man said a word but cast their eyes about, taking in every detail they could of their surroundings. It wouldn't do to let their guards down now. The sound of a heavy door opening from above had both men looking up to the balcony that ran along the right wall. Sherlock's breath hitched and his heart pounded when his eyes landed on his pathologist, the young woman held tightly in the arms of Jim Moriarty, her hands bound tightly before her.

"You made it!" Moriarty exclaimed joyfully, grinning widely at the two men below him. He turned to Molly beside him and pulled her close, his hand sliding into her hair and tugging it painfully until her throat arched.

"See, love? I told you he would make it. After all, one needs their heart to live, right Sherlock?" The madman's eyes flickered back to Sherlock, the manic grin still spread across his cheeks. Sherlock glanced at Molly who was biting her lip harshly to hold in the pain filled whimper at Moriarty's tight hold on her hair, her dark eyes bright with tears. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he tore his gaze away from her, knowing that the plan to save her hinged on keeping his focus on Moriarty. It seemed he took too long to answer for the grin on Moriarty's face vanished into a blank expression, his shark like eyes widening as he yanked hard on Molly's hair, tearing out a few of the strands. A small cry escaped her involuntarily.

"Right, Sherlock?!" The criminal mastermind screamed, spittle flying from his mouth, his hand pulling Molly's head back further. Sherlock flinched imperceptibly as another cry escaped her and he felt John shift beside him. Taking a deep breath Sherlock exhaled slowly before meeting Moriarty's mad stare.

"Of course, Jim," Sherlock answered blandly, projecting a calmness he did not feel. "Basic anatomy; in order to function as a living being one would require a heart." Moriarty threw his head back as he laughed, his dark eyes glittering with mirth.

"Of course, he says! Do you believe him, Molly? That Mr. Consulting Detective actually believes he has a heart? And I bet that you don't even realise that you carry it, do you dear?" When Molly didn't answer, her eyes wide and wet as she bit her bottom lip, Moriarty's expression darkened. Lightning quick Moriarty backhanded Molly across the face, her head whipping sharply to the side with the blow. Sherlock growled low in his throat and John moved quickly beside him, withdrawing his gun and aiming it at the consulting criminal. Moriarty pulled Molly up against him once more and flicked a smirk in their direction.

"Ah, ah, ah, Dr. Watson; let's not be too hasty now," as he spoke Moriarty withdrew his own gun and pressed it beneath Molly's chin. "I usually don't like to get my hands dirty but in this case," he nudged the underside of Molly's jaw with the tip of the gun. "Putting little Molly here out of her misery would be a pleasure but maybe after I've given her a go. She always makes the most delightful little noises." He chuckled ruthlessly when he pressed the gun harder into her jaw, a squeak escaping the pathologist. He glanced down at the men below him, his lips stretching at the infuriated expressions on their faces.

Moriarty's smirk widened as he looked pointedly at John's chest and the doctor followed the glance, taking in the bright, glowing red dot that rested upon his chest. His features hard, John slowly lowered his weapon. The glowing dot originated from Sebastian Moran who had just then stepped out from the shadows of the balcony beside Moriarty, his weapon poised and ready.

"It really does help to have a faithful sidekick, doesn't it Sherlock? Seb here's been with me for years, happily doing the leg work and giving you the run-around when we took Dr. Hooper the first time." Sherlock's eyes narrowed when he took in the blood trickling from the corner of Molly's mouth where Moriarty had hit her but this time, though she didn't make a sound, he could see the determination in her gaze when her eyes landed on his. He was reminded of the time when he had asked for her help and Sherlock found, just as he had that night, that Molly was beautiful. Staring into her glowing eyes he was suddenly overcome with the fear that she would attempt something stupid and knowing that his plan was already unravelling at his feet Sherlock took a step closer to the pool.

"Let her go, Jim," Sherlock said firmly, his deep baritone echoing in the large center. "She has nothing to do with this. This is between you and I." His eyes narrowed when Jim chuckled.

"On the contrary, Sherlock, Miss Molly here has everything to do with this. After all, I did say I would burn the heart out of you. And besides," and here Moriarty paused, trailing the tip of the gun along the arch of Molly's soft throat. "I've always wanted a taste after she denied me when you told her I was gay." Molly's strangled gasp was cut off when Moriarty crashed his mouth against hers, plundering her mouth as she struggled against him. Sherlock shouted in rage, his vision turning red, John's firm hand on his arm the only thing holding him back from scaling the wall and climbing onto the balcony, Moran's presence be damned.

With a quiet groan Moriarty lifted his head from Molly's, smacking his lips and then grinning down at the little pathologist. He laughed when he saw the hate that filled her face, her eyes practically burning him they were so filled with disgust and rage.

"I always knew she was a little spitfire. Really, Sherlock, you should have given her a go when you had the chance, but I guess I'll do the gentlemanly thing and gladly do it for you. Well," Moriarty sighed, "this has been rather pointless. I really thought you were better than this – falling in love? Sentiment? It's all well and good to have a plaything but caring for them? I'm truly disappointed. You really should have stayed dead, Sherlock, it would have saved you the effort and I wouldn't have had to come back just to put you out of your misery." He flicked his gaze to Moran who had moved closer. "Kill them."

With those words, and the consulting criminal moving to take Molly away, all hell broke loose. With an angry scream Molly reared her head back and slammed it forcefully into Moriarty's, the man's head flinging back with the blow and the sound of crunching bone could be heard. Sherlock's eyes widened in shock at her actions, his heart thundering in his chest when Moriarty turned to face her, blood dripping from his nose.

"You bitch!" He snarled, backhanding her with the butt of his gun. Molly turned with the blow before whipping around and spitting in his face, her eyes burning with hatred. "Killing you would be so much more satisfying than screwing you." He threatened and made to follow through with the threat by bringing the gun up and pointing it in her face. With a cry she lunged at him, lifting her bound hands to grasp the gun and push it away from her. The shout of her name from the men below went unheeded.

John and Sherlock watched in shock and horror as Moran turned to break up the struggle but as soon as he move a muffled thump sounded and the man dropped to the floor. Knowing that at least Mary's part in the plan had been carried out John lifted his arms and aimed his gun at the struggling pair on the balcony, his finger tightening over the trigger. While Mary could take the shot just as well as he could the struggling pair made it difficult to keep Moriarty as the target.

"Shoot him, John!" Sherlock demanded, his eyes locked on the struggling pair. They fell against the railing of the balcony, the rail shuddering under their combined weight.

"Don't rush me, Sherlock! I could hit Molly!" John grunted through clenched teeth.

The gun Molly and Moriarty struggled over was now between them, Molly pushing desperately against Moriarty's heavier form though the strain on her bruised body was taking its toll. Her eyes widened when Moriarty gave her a heavy shove, his finger tightening on the trigger as her back hit the railing once again. The bang of the gun firing was loud next to her ear, and pain flared in her shoulder where the bullet entered just as the railing beneath her gave way. It felt like she was floating for a moment and, as another bang filled the air, she watched as Moriarty's head snapped back, a bullet lodged between his eyes before he crumpled.

It was as if she fell in slow motion; the fall seemed to take forever. Her head turned and her eyes made contact with Sherlock's, his expression more openly vulnerable and fearful than she had ever seen it, even on the night he had told her he was going to die.

Time rushed forward, her eyes slipping shut as her back hit the water. The weight of the water was heavy and sucked her under; the last thing she heard over the rush of liquid was Sherlock's desperate scream.

"MOLLY!"

 _Whew! That was exciting! Please let me know what you think and I would love to know your thoughts on what's going to happen next. :)_


	15. Chapter 15

_Hi everyone! Hope I didn't scare too many of you with that last chapter. Here's the next one and we'll see the fallout of Moriarty's attempt to destroy Sherlock once again._

 _Cheers to everyone who has reviewed, favourited and followed this little story. Your support has been super encouraging!_

 _Here's the new chapter, all mistakes are mine, and I really hope you enjoy it!_

 **Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.**

 **Chapter 15**

Tearing off his jacket, the bulletproof vest he was wearing and kicking off his shoes, Sherlock ran towards the edge of the pool and dove in moments after Molly hit the water. He swam downward, his heart racing in terrible fear and adrenalin, his eyes locked onto Molly's figure resting at the bottom of the pool, a steady stream of red rising from her shoulder that slowly dissipated in the surrounding water. A mantra of her name resounded in his mind as he moved as fast as he could towards her, pushing himself hard, his lungs burning for air, desperate to make it in time.

Moments later he reached her and his heart lodge in his throat along with the last of his breath. Her eyes were closed, her auburn hair looked black in the surrounding water and her skin was a translucent blue. Blood still rose from the wound in her shoulder but it was a slow trickle now. Wrapping his arms around her waist Sherlock pulled Molly into him and pushed off from the floor of the pool, propelling them upward.

Sherlock broke the surface with a gasp, hauling Molly up beside him. Her head flopped into the crook of his neck as he called her name and with a shaking hand Sherlock pressed his fingers to her neck, a shuddering breath escaping him when he felt her pulse, but it was very weak. He tilted her head back, brushing the strands of hair that covered her face.

"Molly?" His eyes widened when he saw her face; her skin was almost white, her lips a dusky blue. His hand shook as he cupped her face, his fingers hovering over her mouth and a strangled sound caught in his throat when he realized she wasn't breathing.

"John!" Sherlock yelled as he quickly swam towards the ledge, keeping careful hold of Molly. When he reached the edge of the pool John was already there, reaching out to pull Molly over the ledge. John was speaking rapidly as he situated Molly on the ground, and Sherlock pulled himself out of the pool.

"I've called Mycroft and an ambulance. Mary's outside waiting for them. They should be here in minutes. Mary confirmed that both Moriarty and Moran are dead, but that's the least of our worries at the moment," John was saying as he bent over Molly, checking for vital signs. Sherlock knelt beside Molly across from John, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. The relief that filled him that knowing Moriarty was finally gone felt somewhat hollow as Molly lay still before him, John working with determination to revive her.

Sherlock's breath hitched as John suddenly cursed and ripped open the front of the blouse Molly was wearing. He stripped it off her quickly, tying the scraps of fabric around the bullet wound – a clean, straight through-and-through shot – though it was the reason she was losing blood too quickly. Another problem quickly made itself known as John suddenly placed his hands over the center of her chest and began pushing down. The doctor was counting under his breath as he made the compressions and Sherlock watched on, shivering in his wet clothes. John paused in his chest compression to tilt Molly's head up and seal his mouth over hers, blowing a firm breath into her mouth twice before resuming compressions. Sherlock watched, transfixed, as Molly's chest rose accordingly but remained still as John returned to doing compressions. He felt useless, just sitting there while John worked to keep Molly alive.

"John," Sherlock choked out and John shot him a glance while he worked to revive Molly. "What can I do?"

"If you have your breath back you can do two breaths for her on my count," John instructed, his voice firm and Sherlock was grateful for John's professionalism when it was one of their friends dying in front of them. Sherlock's eyes slammed shut at the thought – she was so much more than a friend.

"Sherlock!" The consulting detective's eyes snapped open at his name and he looked at John, his eyes wide and frightened. "You'll need to seal your mouth completely over Molly's and blow two firm breaths into her. Check between breaths to make sure her chest rises. Alright?" Sherlock nodded jerkily and waited for John's cue as he moved to kneel besides Molly's head. Within moments John urged Sherlock that it was his turn. Very gently Sherlock tilted Molly's head back and place his mouth over hers. He breathed one breath into her lungs, checked to see her chest rise and breathed another before sitting back as John resumed compressions. Thoughts swirled through his mind as he stared down at Molly's slack expression but they refused to focus as once more John urged him to breathe into Molly.

Time passed too quickly and too slowly at the same time. John was fighting exhaustion so he and Sherlock swapped roles. As soon as Sherlock started compression he felt an audible snap beneath his hands and he raised stricken eyes to John.

"Don't stop, Sherlock," John ordered, his expression softening at the pain in his friend's eyes. "It happens but if it will save her life I doubt Molly will mind a broken rib." Sherlock nodded shakily as he continued, his eyes locked on his hands as they tried to get Molly's heart pumping again. More time passed and Sherlock was struggling to retain the same pressure in his compressions. His heart was racing and he strained to catch his breath. His eyes were glued to Molly's face, her beautiful face that was so pale and still. He felt a hand on his arm and he looked up startled at John, the older man's expression sad and grave.

"Sherlock," the doctor said softly and Sherlock's eyes narrowed as, for the first time, he struggled to deduce what John was trying to tell him. With a growl Sherlock flung John's hand away and resumed his compressions.

"I am not giving up, John," Sherlock snarled, finishing his compressions and pushing two breaths into Molly, returning to compressions once more. "She has never, not once, given up on me and I am not about to give up on her." John watched him carefully, his heart breaking for his friend and he wondered briefly what was taking Mycroft so long. He could see that Sherlock was beyond exhausted, his arms shaking as he did the compressions. It finally came to a head when Sherlock breathed into her mouth once more, Molly's chest rising gently, but when she failed to breathe on her own Sherlock broke. With a choked cry he collapsed against her, cupping her face between his hands, brushing the drying strands of hair away from her face.

"Molly," Sherlock rasped, his eyes filling with tears as he traced the arch of her brow. "Molly, please, _please_ , come back." John's own eyes watered as Sherlock pressed a trembling kiss to her lips, his heart constricting as Sherlock begged for Molly to wake up.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry I-I tried to ignore you these last few weeks, I didn't mean… _Molly_ , _please_ ," Sherlock pleaded, pressing kisses to her closed eyelids and her lips. " _Come back to me_."

The sound of the exit doors bursting open had John whirling around to see Mary running towards them followed closely by paramedics, a small military force and the British Government. Mary slid to her knees beside them, her hands flying to her mouth when she saw Molly. The paramedics quickly moved in, working around the consulting detective in covering Molly with blankets and drying the area around them and Molly herself to prepare for the portable defibrillator. John moved to his friend who now was resting his forehead against hers and was brushing his fingertips across her cheeks.

"Sherlock, you need to move out the way, the paramedics are here to help Molly." Sherlock resisted at first until he registered that they were there to save Molly. Very gently Sherlock brushed his lips against Molly's forehead, uncaring of those that surrounded them. John felt his heart clench at the tender way Sherlock touched Molly and heard Mary sniff beside him. Footsteps sounded behind them.

"Sherlock."

Mycroft's voice was soft, the tone gentle, and Sherlock looked up at his elder brother with tear filled eyes. "Let them save her."

Sherlock seemed to deflate and John was able to pull Sherlock away slightly to give the paramedics enough room to work on Molly. The paramedics worked efficiently, attaching the defibrillator and waiting for it to do its job. Minutes passed as the defibrillator advised to wait and then administer a shock. John felt Sherlock flinch beside him and wrapped his arm around the detective's shoulders in comfort.

The defibrillator administered another shock and the paramedics flew into motion when Molly's chest started moving on its own and then she began to choke. They rolled her onto her side, mindful of the wires still connected to her chest, so she wouldn't choke on the water she had swallowed. They monitored her breathing, attaching an oxygen mask to her, and got ready to lift her onto the stretcher to take her to hospital.

"Molly," a voice whispered and dark brown eyes fluttered open blearily, meeting the bright blue-green ones of Sherlock Holmes as he knelt beside her. A tear slid down the consulting detective's cheek as he reached out to clasp one of her hands in his, a trembling smile curling his lips when her tiny hand tried to curl around his.

 _"Molly."_

SHSHSHSHSH

 _Whew! That was exciting! Of course I wouldn't kill Molly. I think she deserves to live after all she has been through, don't you?_

 _Now some of you might think Sherlock was a bit OOC here but I feel that he has grown quite a bit throughout the show and that when someone he truly cares about is hurt his emotions are very close to the surface. Molly's loyalty and patience and constant presence is something that I think Sherlock truly appreciates about Molly and the thought of losing her would terrify him._

 _OK, there's my little bit. Let me know what you think! :)_


	16. Chapter 16

_Hi everyone! Here is the next chapter. We are close to the end now and I'm so grateful for the support this little story has garnered._

 _A huge thank you to all my reviewers, and the favourites and follows this story has gotten. And to all my lovely guest reviewers: I would love to message you personally for your inspiring and encouraging comments; they always make me smile :)_

 _Any and all mistakes are mine :P_

 _Enjoy!_

 **Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.**

 **Chapter 16**

 _This is a familiar picture,_ Mary thought as she entered Molly Hooper's private hospital room. The small pathologist was fast asleep in the single bed, a drip attached to her arm and a heavy bandage was wrapped around her injured shoulder and across her chest to aid in the healing of her re-fractured rib. After Molly had been revived at the pool she had been rushed to hospital, Sherlock joining her in the back of the ambulance. It had been hectic at the hospital when Mary and John had arrived and found Sherlock arguing with one of the nurses, trying to get into the emergency room Molly had been wheeled into. It hadn't been until John had pulled Sherlock away from the red faced nurse and spoke to him that Sherlock calmed a little, though his eyes darted towards the emergency room frequently.

It had been a few nail biting hours later that they had been informed Molly's bullet wound would heal nicely, as would the fractured rib. They wanted to keep Molly for a week or so to make sure that the fluid in her lungs hadn't caused any lasting damage. The relief that Mary had seen on Sherlock's face had caused her to smile softly and it was made very clear that he would be staying with Molly as she healed. Mary and John switched out with him when he looked dead on his feet and was in desperate need of a shower and change of clothes. Mary had found it ironic that when Sherlock left the hospital Molly would wake briefly and inquire what had happened. Mary and John would inform her on what they knew until Molly grew tired and fell asleep once more, just before Sherlock arrived to take over. It had made Mary wonder if Sherlock orchestrated it to be that way, only leaving Molly's side when it appeared she was about to wake. As shrewd and intuitive as she was, Mary could figure out why; the poor man was terrified of what he felt for the pathologist.

It had been little over a week since what happened at the pool and Mary thought that Molly's colour was looking much better as the pathologist slept. The nurses chosen by Mycroft were doing wonders for the young woman. A shadow moved out the corner of her eye and Mary followed the movement to the window. Sherlock Holmes stood there, his back facing the room, his angular face highlighted by the streetlamps outside. She watched him for a moment before turning back to the bed, lifting Molly's chart from the end to get a better look.

"How long have you known?" His voice was low, almost inaudible, and Mary looked up from the chart in her hands to the consulting detective. He still faced the window but with a single glance she could see the stiff set of his shoulders.

"Known?" Mary inquired, replacing Molly's chart at the end of her bed and turning to face him. "Known what? That Molly is in love with you, or that you're in love with her?" She smiled sadly when Sherlock turned and stepped closer to Molly's bed, his expression haggard as he met her gaze.

"Well, for Molly, I knew she was in love with you the moment you were in the same room together after your return. She could hardly take her eyes off you, and the softest smile would appear on her face every time you entered a room." Mary's smile turned wistful. "Before you came back I really thought she had gotten over you; John had felt the same. She seemed really happy with Tom. But then you came back and she no longer looked at the Tom the same way. It was the beginning of the end for them." Sherlock's face contorted slightly as he took in Mary's words, his blue-green eyes drifting to Molly's sleeping form.

"This is all my fault," he murmured and Mary sighed. She moved to stand by his side and rested a hand on his arm.

"Molly knew what she was getting into when she fell in love with you," Mary started softly, her gaze dropping to rest on the sleeping pathologist. "She has always known that your brilliant mind, your thirst for unravelling the truth, and your frank way of speaking that truth was bound to create enemies. But Sherlock, she loves you anyway. She accepts you for who you are, she forgives you even when you hurt her unintentionally, and knows that you care for her in your own special way." Mary chanced a glance up at the consulting detective, her heart clenching when she noticed a slight sheen in his downcast eyes as he gazed down at Molly

"But it's more than that, isn't it Sherlock? That day in the lab, after we had picked you up from that drug den, you allowed Molly to hit you. I've only ever seen others touch you when you allowed them to. It was the same with John when you interrupted us at dinner. Three times you allowed John to hit you. Three times you allowed Molly to hit you. Did you think you deserved it, Sherlock?"

His eyes locked on Molly's sleeping features, Sherlock sighed. "Yes. For John it was because he needed to let off some steam. I knew that once he had, his anger would fade and we could return to the way it used to be." A wry smile flickered across his lips before he closed his eyes and exhaled heavily. "With Molly...I...I knew she was disappointed, that _I_ had disappointed her. I just... I wanted things to go back to how they were, before Magnussen, before Tom, before my death."

"You loved her then, didn't you," Mary murmured, and it was clear she wasn't asking. Sherlock opened his eyes and glanced down at his best friend's wife a moment before looking away.

"I didn't understand what I felt then. All I knew was that I wanted everyone to stop being _different_ – John had you, Molly had Tom. Neither of them needed me anymore." Mary smiled softly and squeezed his arm.

"They will always need you, Sherlock. Maybe not in the way they used to but they would never want you out of their lives."

"I wasn't there for her when Moriarty took her the first time," Sherlock muttered bitterly, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched as he gazed down at the pathologist. "She needed me then and I wasn't _there_. She was so incredibly brave that she was able to get away on her own. It would be better for her if I removed myself from her life." Mary scoffed beside him.

"You leave again, Sherlock, and I can guarantee that she'll come after you," she said firmly and Sherlock refused to meet her gaze. Mary turned towards him and pulled on his arm until he faced her. "You love her, Sherlock, and that terrifies you. But don't you think it is more terrifying to know that love and then give it up when it is within your reach? I know, I _understand_ ," Mary insisted, her grasp tightening on his arm as her blue eyes glittered with sudden tears. "I know that kind of love; I feel it for John and when he found out about me, when he wouldn't talk to me, I could barely breathe, barely function. The only thing that kept me going was the fact that I would soon bring into the world our beautiful baby that we had created together with that love. And then he came back to me, forgave me of my past, loves me for who I am now, and in that moment I had never felt such relief, such _peace,_ in knowing that the man I loved, loved me in return and would fight for me." A tear slid down Mary's cheek and she wiped it away with her free hand.

"Would you do that, Sherlock? Could you? Could you leave Molly knowing what you feel for her and what she feels for you and not regret it? Regret the chance you had at happiness together?" Mary fell silent, hoping that her words would get through to him as his burning gaze turned away from her to fall on Molly. She feared that if he did leave, not only would he break Molly's heart, but John's, and irrevocably his own, and he would return to that cold, unfeeling person he had been when he had first met John.

Silence filled the small private hospital room until it was broken by a choked breath escaping the consulting detective beside her.

"No," Sherlock rasped, his eyes bright as he fell to his knees beside Molly's bed and grasped the pale, upturned hand that lay above the covers at Molly's side. "No, I could not leave, not unless she asked me to." His hand trembled as he brought Molly's hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, his glistening eyes taking in the pathologist's peaceful features. A soft smile lit Mary's face at his words and she laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Don't wait too long to tell her, Sherlock," Mary said softly, her eyes landing on Molly for a moment. "She needs to know." Sherlock nodded imperceptibly and Mary exhaled quietly. As her thoughts drifted to her husband and her little one Mary knew she had to clear the air between the two hard headed idiots over what had happened at the pool.

"You know John would never give up on her, don't you?" Sherlock glanced up at her a moment before looking back at Molly, a heavy breath escaping him.

"I know," Sherlock said eventually, his thumb tracing softly over Molly's hand in his. "I...I was overwhelmed by the situation, thought what I read in John's expression was him giving up but...but I was wrong. And besides, if it wasn't for him, Molly..." he trailed off, the terrible words catching in his throat and he pressed his lips once more to the pathologist's hand. Mary stayed silent, watching the tender moment before squeezing Sherlock's shoulder once more and departing quietly. The last thing she saw before shutting the door was Sherlock's free hand brushing a tendril of Molly's hair from her cheek and her heart swelled with hope.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

"It seems this is becoming a habit for you, Molly, being in hospital." Mary joked at Molly's bedside a few days later, little Lizzie cradled to her breast and the soft sounds of voices could be heard from the hallway to Molly's private hospital room. Molly chuckled softly as she leant back against her pillows, her brown eyes soft as she watched Mary feed Lizzie. She hoped that one day she would be able to have a bond such as that of Lizzie and Mary, of one day being able to hold her own child. Molly sighed.

"I think you're right. I feel I've been in hospital more than I've been out of it. I can't wait to go home. How's John getting on?" Mary laughed.

"Oh, he's fine, straight back into work if you can believe it. While he loves all the work he does with Sherlock and spending time with me and the baby I think he enjoys the monotonous work of being a GP as a break from all the action."

"I'm glad. I owe him my life." Molly said quietly and felt Mary pat her hand.

"He would have done anything to save you, Molly. You're our friend. Though I think he's a bit at odds with Sherlock at the moment." Molly shot Mary a confused look.

"What do you mean?" Mary shrugged.

"When John and Sherlock were working on you, trying to keep you alive for when the paramedics arrived, John was going to swap roles, do the compressions again while Sherlock would do the breaths. I'm not clear on it, mind you, but from what John's told me Sherlock thought that John was giving up on you, that you were beyond saving at that point." Molly's eyes fluttered and she shifted her hands to her lap, fiddling with her fingers.

"Oh," she whispered, her gaze locked on her hands.

"John said that Sherlock took over the CPR completely then, saying that he refused to give up on you when you never gave up on him." Molly looked up, startled, and Mary gave her an encouraging smile. "He worked on you, Molly, and then…he – he broke down, begged you to wake up, to come back to him, that he was sorry." Tears had begun to fall down Molly's cheeks as Mary recounted what John had told her before they had arrived with the paramedics. It had moved her to tears as well, knowing that Sherlock had been so desperate, had been so shaken by the knowledge that he could lose Molly.

Mary waited as Molly composed herself, the pathologist wiping the wetness from her cheeks. She took a shuddering breath before looking up at Mary.

"Then why hasn't he come to see me, Mary? If he was sorry, if…if he wanted me to stay…then why isn't he here?"

"He's afraid, sweetheart," Mary said gently. "What he feels for you overwhelms him, he doesn't know how to process it. John and I have tried talking to him, get him to open up, but he's being tight lipped. Usually you can't get him to shut up." Mary smiled when the comment startled a giggle out of Molly.

"You need to be the one to make him admit it, Molly," Mary told her, grasping the other woman's hand. Molly nodded, a little frown marring her features.

"I…You're right. Before the explosion I was having an argument with Sherlock about returning to work. He was adamant that I had to stay at Baker Street. I…I pleaded with him to tell me why." She looked up at Mary. "I think…I think he would have told me – if that explosion hadn't gone off."

"I think you were onto him, Molly." Mary smiled and looked down at Lizzie. "Seems the little one has fallen asleep, _again._ I don't know if I'll ever get this breast feeding thing right – I'm always left feeling lopsided." Molly giggled, looking more relaxed than Mary had seen her in a long time.

"Go to him, Molly," Mary said as she stood from her chair, making sure to not wake Lizzie in the process. "You will never know until you talk to him." Molly nodded, her gaze dropping to her hands in her lap. Mary bent over and dropped a kiss on the young woman's head before heading out, leaving the pathologist to her thoughts. She knew that after her talk with Sherlock the week before had hit home but was a little disappointed that he'd remained absent from the hospital as soon as Molly had woken up and stayed awake. She figured that he was just trying to sort himself out but she hoped that he would figure it out sooner rather than later. It hurt to see Molly this way, as if she had been cast aside. Mary knew it wasn't true and wanted more than anything to tell Molly not to lose hope, but it wasn't for her to say.

Mary gave one last little wave as she closed Molly's hospital room door, her other hand cradling the sleeping Lizzie to her chest. She knew Molly would take her advice; she was a lot more determined than many gave her credit for. The little pathologist had some life changing decisions to make.

 _There you go! Let me know what you think :)_


	17. Chapter 17

_Hi everyone! Sorry for the delay, life caught up with me for a little while. This here is the final chapter of my little story. It has be an exciting journey and great learning experience for me. Also, a chance to add my bit to an awesome fandom._

 _Huge thanks to everyone who has commented, favourited, and followed this little story. Your support and encouragement made finishing this story possible._

 _Thank you all and I hope you enjoy this final chapter!_

 **Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.**

 **Chapter 17**

Sherlock Holmes grimaced at the eighth text he received from Mary Watson, calling him a clot for not visiting Molly at hospital once the pathologist had woken up. He wanted to, oh how desperately he wanted to, but every time he had made to leave the flat, intending to head straight over to Barts Hospital, he would find his feet glued to the carpet, a cold sweat breaking out over him, his heart thumping madly in his chest. He didn't understand what he was so worried about, it was only Molly. Molly – the one who counted, the one he trusted, the one who made morbid jokes he secretly adored, the one with the impish smile and sparkling brown eyes that lit up whenever she saw him, the one who didn't take his crap anymore, who stood up to him with a fierceness and iron will that left him breathless. Molly Hooper, the one who mattered the most.

It was when these thoughts flooded his mind that he realized he couldn't see her. Fear – something he had felt for too long now – would overwhelm him. Even though Moriarty was gone there could be others. Who was he to jeopardize her life because of his feelings for her? She had moved on anyway, she didn't think of him in that way anymore, he was sure of it, or, well, he'd convinced himself that he was sure of it when the facts were laid out before him. Why else had she wanted to escape from the flat, from _him_ , so readily? So he was right to keep his feelings to himself; it was for her own safety, she would be much better off. He knew that if Mary Watson could hear his thoughts right now she would hit him. It seemed that despite her encouraging words, and the reassurance that Molly loved him, Sherlock's brilliant mind was working hard to destroy even the smallest hope that he and Molly could be happy together.

So yes, it would be better if he left Molly alone, for her own safety. He ignored the constricting of his heart at the thought and reached out for his violin, disregarding the way his phone lit up with another text, this time from John, no doubt, calling him an idiot.

Standing by the window Sherlock played the violin, his eyes closing when the haunting tune floated from the instrument to permeate the flat. It was a familiar tune, one that he had been unable to get out of his head during the time Molly had been taken the first time. He was hesitant to give it a name, unsure as to how telling it would be if he gave it the name that filled his mind along with the notes every time he played it.

As he drew the bow across the strings for the final notes he was unaware of the presence that had entered the flat. With a slow exhale he finished the piece, his bow falling to his side as he opened his eyes. The creak of a floorboard had his head whipping up, his blue-green eyes widening when they landed on the small form of Molly Hooper in his doorway. Sherlock swallowed heavily as she moved further into the room, closing the door behind her.

"You didn't come to see me," she started softly, her expression gentle, curious. Sherlock swallowed again and busied himself with putting away his violin.

"Well, I felt my presence would have hindered your recovery," Sherlock offered, refusing to meet her gaze, cursing inwardly at the way his heart fluttered at her nearness. Perhaps he was developing an arrhythmia?

"In what way?" Molly asked, continuing to move closer until Sherlock felt his legs hit the edge of his desk. He straightened, trying to appear unaffected by her presence. The scent of vanilla and lemon filled his nostrils, making him suddenly light headed.

"Um, well, you know, bothering the nurses and all that," he said haphazardly, missing the small smile that quirked Molly's lips. He fiddled with the papers on his desk, refusing to look at her unless she noticed how hard his heart was beating the closer she came. She could always _see_ him.

"Sherlock." The soft call was accompanied by her small hand on his forearm and he couldn't help it, he looked up. He was arrested by the look in her warm brown eyes, the edges crinkling at the corners when she smiled.

"I've missed you," Molly said softly and a lump formed in his throat, making it difficult to speak. How was she able to do that? Render him speechless with so few words? He shivered when her hand slid from his forearm down to his hand where she intertwined her fingers with his. He looked down at their clasped hands, marvelling at how tiny her hand was in his larger one, the hidden strength her hands contained.

"Why didn't you come to see me?" He looked up at her gentle inquiry, his intelligent eyes travelling over her quickly, deducing that, while exhausted, she was determined to find the answers she sought. She favoured her left shoulder now, the bullet wound having left its mark, and he found himself selfishly hoping that it wouldn't hinder her work in the morgue and labs. He thought of her question and his mind soon conjured all the thoughts he had had over the last week and a half over why he couldn't visit her in hospital.

Oh, he had gone with her to the hospital once the paramedics had stabilized her at the pool. Had stayed while the surgeons worked on her. He had only left when the doctors declared her stable and moved her to a private room on the behest of Mycroft Holmes where she would remain for the rest of her recovery. He had acknowledged in that hospital room, staring down at the small pathologist as she slept, that he loved her, and because of that love he had nearly gotten her killed, despite Mary trying to convince him that was incorrect, that Molly knew what she was getting into by being his friend, by caring for him. Moriarty had been right; Molly held his heart, had held if for a long time in her safe keeping. And he had known that, if he didn't leave that room, he would never leave her side again, and that wasn't something he had been prepared to do at the time.

Staring into Molly's eyes now, Sherlock could see that she was waiting for him, that she could see him, that she understood him, far better than he thought he knew himself. His hand tightened on hers.

"Molly," he started, his voice raspy with emotion and he found it difficult to articulate himself. He didn't do this, sentiment, feelings, _love_. He didn't know how to and he desperately didn't want to disappoint this woman, this brilliant, beautiful, wonderful woman before him again. "I…I didn't…I felt it was best if…if I – " He trailed off when Molly pressed a finger to his lips, smiling gently up at him. He felt the urge to press a kiss to that finger but held himself back, feeling overwhelmed by her closeness.

"What were you going to say to me, that day, to get me to stay?" Molly asked and Sherlock felt a rush of relief sweep through him. He could answer this question, had been going to answer this question before the explosion happened. It was just like Molly to make things easier for him. He covered her hand that had dropped to his chest.

"I wanted you to stay because I could keep you safe. If you had gone back to work, to Barts, I…my attention would have been divided, you at Barts, searching for Moriarty." Molly raised an eyebrow at him and he frowned.

"What?"

"Well, I wasn't safe at Baker Street, was I? Moriarty was still able to get to me there, and you were there with me." Sherlock's expression shuttered, his eyes dropping away from hers. Molly bit her lip.

"Sherlock, I stayed in Baker Street because I wanted to be here and, for a short time, you wanted me here. After Lizzie was born I felt that you didn't need me here anymore, that I was getting in the way of your work." Sherlock's eyes snapped up to hers, the feelings that he had been suppressing for so long came bubbling to the surface over how wrong she was when she thought that he didn't want her. Mary's words to tell Molly how he felt about her drifted to the forefront of his mind and Sherlock knew it was now or never.

"I did want you here, Molly. I still want you here. I didn't want you to go back to work because I was afraid that you would be taken from me, that Moriarty would come after you at Barts. And when you were taken from here…when I thought that I had…thought I had lost you…" His eyes were bright, his voice becoming raspier with every word as the feelings he had felt on that night returned full force. It was a great burden sometimes to have a mind that retained information so well. It should have been another clue that he loved her when he had never deleted anything about her since their first meeting.

"When I thought I had lost you, I couldn't breathe, Molly," Sherlock whispered, his eyes boring into her wide brown ones. He lifted his hands and cradled her face between them, wanting to make sure that what he was about to say Molly understood completely.

"I was terrified of losing you, Molly. I have only felt fear a few times in my life but that night…that night I truly understood how much I need you, how much I want you in my life. You are my pathologist, my friend, my compassion, my hope... _my heart_. You have saved me, so many times, Molly, and I will never be able to thank you enough for that, but I want to try." Molly eyes had filled with tears as he spoke and he wiped them away with his thumbs. Her hands came up to cover his.

"Is…i-is this just…just out of g-gratitude, S-Sherlock?" Molly stuttered, another tear streaking down her cheek. Sherlock shook his head, giving her a soft smile, a peace he had never known before filling him the more he shared with her.

"No, Molly. This is not out of gratitude. What I feel for you has tied me up in knots, Molly. I have tried to ignore it, to push it aside, to deny it completely, because I was afraid of what it would change. But not anymore." Molly squeezed his hands in hers and stared up at him intently and Sherlock took in the signs that had been there all along, he had just been too blind to see it for what it truly meant. Molly's cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, pupils dilated, and her pulse was fluttering erratically in the hollow of her throat.

"What do you feel, Sherlock?" She whispered and Sherlock bent his head to rest against hers, his left thumb lifting to brush against her bottom lip.

"I love you, Molly Hooper," Sherlock said and smiled when Molly let out a choked laugh, another tear spilling down her cheek. He went to wipe it away but Molly suddenly lifted onto her toes and pressed her lips against his, her hands moving to tangle into his hair. Heat rushed through him and Sherlock pulled her closer, angling his head to deepen the kiss. He tried to keep it tender, soft, but he couldn't help groaning quietly when her nails scraped across his scalp before her fingers tugged on his locks. A tiny whimper escaped Molly when Sherlock bit her bottom lip gently in retaliation. They broke apart when air became necessary, resting their foreheads against each other while they caught their breath.

"I love you, too, Sherlock," Molly whispered, smiling up at him as a shuddering breath escaped him. She brushed a lock of his hair out of his eyes before cupping his cheek. "So what happens now?" Sherlock grinned and pressed a kiss into her palm, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Move in with me." Molly's eyes widened.

"But…d-don't you think i-it's too fast?"

"Most of your things are already here, we've known each other for years and work perfectly well together, always have." He frowned when Molly still seemed wary. "Why? Do you not want to?"

"No, I do. More than anything," Molly hurried to reassure him. "I just…are you sure this is something you want to do because you need to understand, Sherlock, that I'm…I'm in this for the long term. I've loved you for years, but if you aren't completely sure – " She was cut off when Sherlock crushed his mouth to hers, effectively silencing her. They pulled apart after a few minutes, Molly dropping to rest her head breathlessly against his chest. Sherlock sighed softly and ran his hands through her hair, pulling out the hair tie that held it in its braid in the process.

"Would it prove my willingness to be with you if we got married?" He chuckled when Molly thumped him lightly with her fist.

"Don't joke, Sherlock. I think moving in together is a big enough step first, don't you?" She looked up at him and, seeing the triumphant grin on his face, she couldn't resist pulling him down to kiss him once more.

As Sherlock held Molly close, he knew that, with her, his heart would forever be in her safe keeping.

 **The End**

 _Squee! I know, a sappy ending, but I feel they totally deserved it after all the hardship they have suffered. That's the end folks! I hope you enjoyed it and thanks again for reading! :D_


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